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presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 
FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 

MR.   JOHN  C.   ROSE 

donor 


w 

AM 


BONAPARTE    AT   TWENTY-TWO   YEARS    OF    AGE. 

After  a  portrait  by  Greuze.  This  portrait  was  exhibited  at  the  "  Exposition  des  portraits  du  Siecle,"  at  the  ficole 
des  Beaux  Arts,  in  1893.  ("  No.  in— Bonaparte,  Lieutenant  d'Artillerie— par  Greuze,  Jean  Baptiste.  Collection  de 
M.  le  Marquis  de  Las  Cases.'')  As  this  is  reputed  to  be  the  earliest  portrait  of  Napoleon  in  existence,  Mr.  Hubbard 
wrote  to  the  Marquis  de  Las  Cases  asking-  its  history.  In  September,  1894,  he  received  a  letter,  from  which  the  fol- 
lowing is  quoted:  "Madame  du  Colombier  had  the  portrait  of  Lieutenant  Bonaparte  painted  in  1791  by  Greuze, 
who  was  going  through  Valence,  and  who  was  then  fifty-eight  years  old.  The  portrait  afterwards  passed  to 
Madame  de  Bressieux,  her  daughter,  and  it  was  only  upon  the  death  of  Madame  de  Bressieux,  in  1847,  that  my  uncle 
was  able  to  secure  the  picture,  which  he  left  to  me." 


A   SHORT    LIFE 


OF 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE 


BY    IDA   M.  TARBELL 


WITH   250  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FROM  THE  HON.  GARDINER  G.  HUBBARD'S 
COLLECTION  OF  NAPOLEON  ENGRAVINGS, 
SUPPLEMENTED  BY  PICTURES  FROM  THE 
COLLECTIONS  OF  PRINCE  VICTOR  NAPOLEON, 
PRINCE  ROLAND  BONAPARTE,  BARON  LARREY 
AND  OTHERS 


NEW    YORK 
THE    S.    S.   McCLURE    CO. 

141-155  E.   25TH  STREET 
1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1894,  BY 
S     S.   McCLURE,  LIMITED 


COPYRIGHT,  1895,  BY 
S.    S.    McCLURE,   LIMITED 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY 
THE   S.  S.  McCLURE   CO. 


PREFACE. 

THE  chief  source  of  illustration  for  this  volume,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Napoleon 
papers  in  MCCLURE'S  MAGAZINE,  is  the  great  collection  of  engravings  of  Mr.  Gardiner 
G.  Hubbard,  which  has  been  generously  placed  at  the  service  of  the  publishers.  In 
order  to  make  the  illustration  still  more  comprehensive,  a  representative  of  MCCLURE'S 
MAGAZINE  and  an  authorized  agent  of  Mr.  Hubbard  visited  Paris,  to  seek  there  what- 
ever it  might  be  desirable  to  have  in  the  way  of  additional  pictures  which  were  not 
within  the  scope  of  Mr.  Hubbard's  splendid  collection.  They  secured  the  assistance 
of  M.  Armand  Dayot,  Inspecteur  des  Beaux-Arts,  who  possessed  rare  qualifications  for 
the  task.  His  official  position  he  owed  to  his  familiarity  with  the  great  art  collec- 
tions, both  public  and  private,  of  France,  and  his  official  duties  made  him  especially 
familiar  with  the  great  paintings  relating  to  French  history.  Besides,  he  was  a 
specialist  in  Napoleonic  iconography.  On  account  of  his  qualifications  and  special 
knowledge,  he  had  been  selected  by  the  great  house  of  Hachette  et  Cie.  to  edit  their 
book  on  NapoUon  racontt  par  I  Image,  which  was  the  first  attempt  to  bring  together 
in  one  volume  the  most  important  pictures  relating  to  the  military,  political,  and 
private  life  of  Napoleon.  M.  Dayot  had  just  completed  this  task,  and  was  fresh  from 
his  studies  of  Napoleonic  pictures,  when  his  aid  was  secured  by  the  publishers  of 
MCCLURE'S  MAGAZINE,  in  supplementing  the  Hubbard  collection. 

The  work  was  prosecuted  with  the  one  aim  of  omitting  no  important  picture* 
When  great  paintings  indispensable  to  a  complete  pictorial  life  of  Napoleon  were 
found,  which  had  never  been  either  etched  or  engraved,  photographs  were  obtained,, 
many  of  these  photographs  being  made  especially  for  our  use. 

A  generous  selection  of  pictures  was  made  from  the  works  of  Raffet  and  Charlet. 
M.  Dayot  was  able  also  to  add  a  number  of  pictures — not  less  than  a  score — of" 
unique  value,  through  his  personal  relations  with  the  owners  of  the  great  private 
Napoleonic  collections.  Thus  were  obtained  hitherto  unpublished  pictures,  of  the 
highest  value,  from  the  collections  of  Monseigneur  Due  d'Aumale  ;  of  H.  I.  H.,  Prince 
Victor  Napoleon  ;  of  Prince  Roland  ;  of  Baron  Larrey,  the  son  of  the  chief  surgeon  of 
the  army  of  Napoleon  ;  of  the  Duke  of  Bassano,  son  of  the  minister  and  confidant 
of  the  emperor  ;  of  Monsieur  Edmond  Taigny,  the  friend  and  biographer  of  Isabey  ; 
of  Monsieur  Albert  Christophle,  Governor-General  of  the  Credit- Fonder  of  France  ;  of 
Monsieur  Paul  le  Roux,  who  has  perhaps  the  richest  of  the  Napoleonic  collections  ; 
and  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Girardin,  son-in-law  of  the  Due  de  Gae'te,  the  faithful 
Minister  of  Finance  of  Napoleon  I.  It  will  be  easily  understood  that  no  doubt  can  be. 
raised  as  to  the  authenticity  of  documents  borrowed  from  such  sources. 

The  following  letter  explains  fully  the  plan  on  which  Mr.  ITubbard's  collection  is 
arranged,  and  shows  as  well  its  admirable  completeness.  It  gives,  too,  a  classification 
of  the  pictures  into  periods,  which  will  be  useful  to  the  reader. 

WASHINGTON,  October,  1894. 
S.  S.  McCLURE,  Esq. 

Dear  Sir  : — It  is  about  fourteen  years  since  I  became  interested  in  engravings,  and  I  have  since  that 
time  made  a  considerable  collection,  including  many  portraits,  generally  painted  and  engraved  during  the 
life  of  the  personage.  I  have  from  two  hundred  to  three  hundred  prints  relating  to  Napoleon,  his  family, 
and  his  generals.  The  earliest  of  these  is  a  portrait  of  Napoleon  painted  in  1791,  when  he  was  twenty-two 
years  old  ;  the  next  in  date  was  engraved  in  1796.  There  are  many  in  each  subsequent  year,  and  four  prints 
of  drawings  made  immediately  after  his  death. 

There  are  few  men  whose  characters  at  different  periods  of  life  are  so  distinctly  marked  as  Napoleon's, 
as  will  appear  by  an  examination  of  these  prints.  There  are  four  of  these  periods  :  First  Period,  1796- 


vi  PREFACE. 

1797.  Napoleon  the  General  ;  Second  Period,  1801-1804,  Napoleon  the  Statesman  and  Lawgiver  ;  Third 
Period,  1804-1812,  Napoleon  the  Emperor  ;  Fourth  Period,  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  Napoleon,  including 
Waterloo  and  St.  Helena.  Most  of  these  prints  are  contemporaneous  with  the  periods  described.  The 
portraits  include  copies  of  the  portraits  painted  by  the  greatest  painters  and  engraved  by  the  best  engravers 
of  that  age.  There  are  four  engravings  of  the  paintings  by  Meissonier — "  1807,"  "  Napoleon,"  "  Napo- 
leon Reconnoitring,"  and  "  1814." 

FIRST  PERIOD,  1796-1797,  Napoleon  the  General. — In  these  the  Italian  spelling  of  the  name,  "  Buona- 
parte," is  generally  adopted.  At  this  period  there  were  many  French  and  other  artists  in  Italy,  and  it  would 
seem  as  if  all  were  desirous  of  painting  the  young  general.  A  French  writer  in  a  late  number  of  the  "  Ga^ 
zette  des  Beaux-Arts  "  is  uncertain  whether  Gros,  Appiani,  or  Cossia  was  the  first  to  obtain  a  sitting  from 
General  Bonaparte.  It  does  not  matter  to  your  readers,  as  portraits  by  each  of  these  artists  are  included  in 
this  collection. 

There  must  have  been  other  portraits  or  busts  of  Bonaparte  executed  before  1796,  besides  the  one  by 
Greuze  given  in  this  collection.  These  may  be  found,  but  there  are  no  others  in  my  collection.  Of  the  por- 
traits of  Napoleon  belonging  to  this  period  eight  were  engraved  before  1798,  one  in  1800.  All  have  the 
long  hair  falling  below  the  ears  and  over  the  forehead  and  shoulders  ;  while  all  portraits  subsequent  to  Na- 
poleon's expedition  to  Egypt  have  short  hair.  The  length  of  the  hair  affords  an  indication  of  the  date  of 
the  portrait. 

SECOND  PERIOD,  1801-1804,  Napoleon  the  Statesman  and  Lawgiver. — During  this  period  many  Eng- 
lish artists  visited  Paris,  and  painted  or  engraved  portraits  of  Napoleon.  In  these  the  Italian  spelling 
"  Buonaparte  "  is  adopted,  while  in  the  French  engravings  of  this  period  he  is  called  "  Bonaparte  "  or  "  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte."  Especially  noteworthy  among  them' is  "  The  Review  at  the  Tuileries,"  regarded  by  Mas- 
son  as  the  best  likeness  of  Napoleon  "  when  thirty  years  old  and  in  his  best  estate."  The  portrait  painted 
by  Gerard  in  1803,  and  engraved  by  Richomme,  is  by  others  considered  the  best  of  this  period.  There  is. 
already  a  marked  change  from  the  long  and  thin  face  in  earlier  portraits  to  the  round  and  full  face  of  this 
period.  In  some  of  these  prints  the  Code  Napoleon  is  introduced  as  an  accessory. 

THIRD  PERIOD,  1804-1812,  Napoleon  the  Emperor. — He  is  now  styled  "Napoleon,"  "Napoleon  le 
•Grand,"  or  "  L'Empereur."  His  chief  painters  in  this  period  are  Lefevre,  Gerard,  Isabey,  Lupton,  and 
David  (with  Raphael-Morghen,  Longhi,  Desnoyers,  engravers) — artists  of  greater  merit  than  those  of  the 
•earlier  periods.  The  full-length  portrait  by  David  has  been  copied  oftener  and  is  better  known  than  any 
other. 

It  has  been  said  that  we  cannot  in  the  portraits  of  this  period,  executed  by  Gerard,  Isabey,  and  David, 
find  a  true  likeness  of  Napoleon.  His  ministers  thought  "  it  was  necessary  that  the  sovereign  should  have 
a  serene  expression,  with  a  beauty  almost  more  than  human,  like  the  deified  Caesars  or  the  gods  of  whom 
they  were  the  image."  "  Advise  the  painters,"  Napoleon  wrote  to  Duroc,  September  15,  1807,  "  to  make 
the  countenance  more  gracious  (pluttit  gracieuses)."  Again,  "  Advise  the  painters  to  seek  less  a  perfect 
resemblance  than  to  give  the  beau  ideal  in  preserving  certain  features  and  in  making  the  likeness  more 
agreeable  (p/ti(6t  agrtfable)." 

FOURTH  PERIOD,  1812-1815,  Decline  and  Fall  of  Napoleon. — We  have  probably  in  the  front  and  side 
face  made  by  Girodet,  and  published  in  England,  a  true  likeness  of  Napoleon.  It  was  drawn  by  Girodet 
in  the  Chapel  of  the  Tuileries,  March  8,  1812,  while  Napoleon  was  attending  mass.  It  is  believed  to  be  a 
more  truthful  likeness  than  that  by  David,  made  the  same  year  ;  the  change  in  his  appearance  to  greater 
fulness  than  in  the  portraits  of  1801-1804  is  here  more  plainly  marked.  He  has  now  become  corpulent, 
and  his  face  is  round  and  full.  Two  portraits  taken  in  1815  show  it  even  more  clearly.  One  of  these  was 
taken  immediately  before  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and  the  other,  by  J.  Eastlake,  immediately  after.  Mr.  East- 
lake,  then  an  art  student,  was  staying  at  Plymouth  when  the  "  Bellerophon  "  put  in.  He  watched  Napoleon 
for  several  days,  taking  sketches  from  which  he  afterwards  made  a  full-length  portrait. 

The  collection  concludes  with  three  notable  prints  :  the  first  of  the  mask  made  by  Dr.  Antommarchi 
the  day  of  his  death,  and  engraved  by  Calamatta  in  1834  ;  another  of  a  drawing  "  made  immediately  after 
death  by  Captain  Ibbetson,  R.  N.;  "  and  the  third  of  a  drawing  by  Captain  Crockatt,  made  fourteen  hours 
after  the  death  of  Napoleon,  and  published  in  London  July  18,  1821.  These  show  in  a  remarkable  manner 
the  head  of  this  wonderful  man. 

The  larger  part  of  these  prints  was  purchased  through  Messrs.  \Vunderlich  &  Co.,  and  Messrs.  Keppel 
of  New  York,  some  at  auctions  in  Berlin,  London,  Amsterdam,  and  Stuttgart ;  very  few  in  Paris. 

GARDINER  G.  HUBBARD. 

The  historical  and  critical  notes  which  accompany  the  illustrations  in  this  volume 
have  been  furnished  by  Mr.  Hubbard  as  a  rule,  though  those  signed  A.  D.  come  from 
the  pen  of  M.  Armand  Dayot. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE 

I.  YOUTH  AND  EARLY  SURROUNDINGS. — SCHOOL  DAYS  AT  BRIENNE.  i 

II.  IN  PARIS. — LIEUTENANT  OF  ARTILLERY. — LITERARY  WORK.. — THE  REV- 
OLUTION        ............  7 

i 

III.  ROBESPIERRE. — OUT  OF  WORK. — FIRST  SUCCESS 16 

IV.  COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE. — DEVOTION  TO  JOSEPHINE  .         .         .         .21 
V.  ITALIAN  CAMPAIGN. — RULES  OF  WAR       .......  26 

VI.  RETURN  TO  PARIS. — EGYPTIAN  CAMPAIGN. — THE  i8TH  BRUMAIRE         .  44 

VII.  STATESMAN  AND  LAWGIVER. — THE  FINANCES. — THE  INDUSTRIES. — THE 

PUBLIC  WORKS 52 

VIII.  RETURN   OF  THE  EMIGRES. — THE  CONCORDAT. — LEGION  OF  HONOR. — 

CODE  NAPOLEON. 64 

IX.  OPPOSITION    TO    THE    CENTRALIZATION    OF    THE    GOVERNMENT. — PROS- 
PERITY OF  FRANCE 75 

X.  PREPARATIONS  FOR  WAR  WITH  ENGLAND. — FLOTILLA  AT  BOULOGNE. — 

SALE  OF  LOUISIANA .81 

XI.  EMPEROR  OF  THE  FRENCH  PEOPLE. — KING  OF  ITALY      .        ,         .         .88 

XII.  CAMPAIGNS  OF  1805,  1806.  1807. — PEACE  OF  TILSIT        ....  104 

XIII.  EXTENSION  OF  NAPOLEON'S  EMPIRE. — FAMILY  AFFAIRS           .         .         .  126 

XIV.  BERLIN    DECREE.  —  PENINSULAR    WAR.  —  THE     BONAPARTES    ON    THE 

SPANISH  THRONE 138 

XV.  DISASTERS  IN  SPAIN. — ERFURT  MEETING. — NAPOLEON  AT  MADRID        .  149 

XVI.  TALLEYRAND'S  TREACHERY. — CAMPAIGN  OF  1809     .....  156 

XVII.  DIVORCE  OF  JOSEPHINE. — MARRIAGE  WITH    MARIE    LOUISE. — BIRTH   OF 

THE  KING  OF  ROME             .                 .  164 


vi»  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER. 

PAGE. 

XVIII.  TROUBLE  WITH  THE    POPE.— THE  CONSCRIPTION.---THE  TILSIT  AGREE- 
MENT BROKEN       .  ' 

/  w 

XIX.  RUSSIAN  CAMPAIGN. — BURNING  OF  Moscow. — A  NEW  ARMY  18? 

XX.  CAMPAIGN  OF  1813.— CAMPAIGN  OF  1814.— ABDICATION          .        .  I92 

XXI.  ELBA.— THE  HUNDRED  DAYS.— THE  SECOND  ABDICATION      .  202 

XXII.  SURRENDER  TO  ENGLISH.— ST.  HELENA.— DEATH    .  212 

XXIII.  THE  SECOND  FUNERAL      .'                 .                 .  226 

TABLE  OF  THE  BONAPARTE  FAMILY           .         .  244 

CHRONOLOGY  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE    .  246 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


CHAPTER    I. 


NAPOLEON'S    YOUTH    AND    EARLY    SURROUNDINGS.— HIS    SCHOOL     DAYS    AT 

BRIENNE. 


I 


not  con- 
vinced that 
his  family  is 
as  old  and  as 
good  as  my 
own,"  said 
the  Emperor 
of  Austria 
when  he  mar- 
ried Marie 
Louise  to 
Napoleon 
Bonaparte, 
"  I  would  not 
give  him  my 
daughter." 
The  remark 
is  sufficient 
recognition 
of  the  nobil- 
ity of  the 
father  of 
N  apo  1  eon, 
Charles 
Marie  d  e 
Bonaparte,  a 
gentleman  of 
Ajaccio,  Cor- 
sica, whose 
family,  of 
Tuscan  ori- 
gin, had  set- 
tled there  in 
the  sixteenth 
century,  and  who,  in  1765,  had  married  a 
young  girl  of  the  island,  Laetitia  Ramolino. 
Monsieur  de  Bonaparte  gave  his  wife  a 
noble  name,  but  little  else.  He  was  an  in- 
dolent, pleasure-loving,chimerical  man, who 
had  inherited  a  lawsuit,  and  whose  time  was 
absorbed  in  the  hopeless  task  of  recovering 
an  estate  of  which  the  Church  had  taken 
possession.  Madame  Bonaparte  brought 
her  husband  no  great  name,  but  she  did 


BONAPAK1K   AT    UKItNMi. 

The  original  of  this  statue  is  in  the 
gallery  of  Versailles.  It  dates  from 
1851,  and  is  by  Louis  Rochet,  one  of 
the  pupils  of  David  d'Angers. 


bring  him  health,  beauty,  and  remarkable 
qualities.  Tall  and  imposing,  Mademoi- 
selle Laetitia  Ramolino  had  a  superb  car- 
riage, which  she  never  lost,  and  a  face 
which  attracted  attention  particularly  by 
the  accentuation  and  perfection  of  its  feat- 
ures. She  was  reserved,  but  of  ceaseless 
energy  and  will,  and  though  but  fifteen 
when  married,  she  conducted  her  family 
affairs  with  such  good  sepse  and  firmness 
that  she  was  able  to  bring  up  decently  the 
eight  children  spared  her  from  the  thirteen 
she  bore.  The  habits  of  order  and  econ- 
omy formed  in  her  years  of  struggle  be- 
came so  firmly  rooted  in  her  character 
that  later,  when  she  became  mater  regum, 
the  "  Madame  Mere  "  of  an  imperial  court, 
she  could  not  put  them  aside,  but  saved 
from  the  generous  income  at  her  disposal, 
"  for  those  of  my  children  who  are  not  yet 
settled,"  she  said.  Throughout  her  life 
she  showed  the  truth  of  her  son's  char- 
acterization :  "A  man's  head  on  a  woman's 
body." 

The  first  years  after  their  marriage  were 
stormy  ones  for  the  Bonapartes.  The  Cor- 
sicans,  led  by  the  patriot  Pascal  Paoli,  were 
in  revolt  against  the  French,  at  that  time 
masters  of  the  island.  Among  Paoli's  fol- 
lowers was  Charles  Bonaparte.  He  shared 
the  fortunes  of  his  chief  to  the  end  of  the 
struggle  of  1769,  and  when,  finally,  Paoli 
was  hopelessly  defeated,  took  to  the  moun- 
tains. In  all  the  dangers  and  miseries  of 
this  war  and  flight,  Charles  Bonaparte  was 
accompanied  by  his  wife,  who,  vigorous  of 
body  and  brave  of  heart,  suffered  priva- 
tions, dangers,  and  fatigues  without  com- 
plaint. When  the  Cors'cans  submitted, 
the  Bonapartes  went  back  to  Ajaccio. 
Six  weeks  later  Madame  Bonaparte  gave 
birth  to  her  fourth  child,  Napoleon. 

"  I  was  born,"  said  Napoleon,  "  when  my 
country  was  perishing.  Thirty  thousand 
Frenchmen  were  vomited  upon  our  soil. 


CHAKLES  BONAPAKTE,  FATHER  OF  NAPOLEON.   BORN  1746  ;  DIED  1785. 


Cries  of  the  wounded,  sighs  of  the  op- 
pressed, and  tears  of  despair  surrounded 
my  cradle  at  my  birth." 

Young  Bonaparte  learned  to  hate  with 
the  fierceness  peculiar  to  Corsican  blood 
the  idea  of  oppression,  to  revere  Paoli, 
and,  with  a  boy's  contempt  of  necessity, 
even  to  despise  his  father's  submission. 
It  was  not  strange.  His  mother  had  little 
time  for  her  children's  training.  His  father 
gave  them  no  attention  ;  and  Napoleon, 
"obstinate  and  curious,"  domineering  over 
his  brothers  and  companions,  fearing  no 
one,  ran  wild  on  the  beach  with  the  sailors 
or  over  the  mountains  with  the  herdsmen, 
listening  to  their  tales  of  the  Corsican  rebel- 


lion and  of  fights  on  sea  and  land,  imbib- 
ing their  contempt  for  submission,  their 
love  for  liberty. 

At  nine  years  of  age  he  was  a  shy,  proud, 
wilful  child,  unkempt  and  untrained,  little, 
pale,  and  nervous,  almost  without  instruc- 
tion, and  yet  already  enamored  of  a  sol- 
dier's life  and  conscious  of  a  certain  supe- 
riority over  his  comrades.  Then  it  was 
that  he  was  suddenly  transplanted  from  his 
free  life  to  an  environment  foreign  in  its 
language,  artificial  in  its  etiquette,  and 
severe  in  its  regulations. 

It  was  as  a  dependant,  a  species  of  char- 
ity pupil,  that  he  went  into  this  new  atmos- 
phere. Charles  Bonaparte  had  become,  in 


'•&.  " 


L^BTITIA  RAMOLINO,    NAPOLEON'S   MOTHER.      BORN    1750,    DIED    1836. 


the  nine  years  since  he  had  abandoned  the 
cause  of  Paoli,  a  thorough  parasite.  Like 
all  the  poor  nobility  of  the  country  to 
which  he  had  attached  himself,  and  even 
like  many  of  the  rich  in  that  day,  he  begged 
favors  of  every  description  from  the  govern- 
ment in  return  for  his  support.  To  aid  in 
securing  them,  he  humbled  himself  before 
the  French  Governor-General  of  Corsica, 
the  Count  de  Marboeuf,  and  made  frequent 
trips,  which  he  could  ill  afford,  back  and 
forth  to  Versailles.  The  free  education 
of  his  children,  a  good  office  with  its  salary 
and  honors,  the  maintenance  of  his  claims 


against  the  Jesuits,  were  among  the  favors 
which  he  sought. 

By  dint  of  solicitation  he  had  secured  a 
place  among  the  free  pupils  of  the  college 
at  Autun  for  his  son  Joseph,  the  oldest  of 
the  family,  and  one  for  Napoleon  at  the 
military  school  at  Brienne. 

To  enter  the  school  at  Brienne,  it  was 
necessary  to  be  able  to  read  and  write 
French,  and  to  pass  a  preliminary  examina- 
tion in  that  language.  This  young  Napo- 
leon could  not  do  ;  indeed,  he  could 
scarcely  have  done  as  much  in  his  native 
Italian.  A  preparatory  school  was  neces- 


els. i m  t)<n«io 


"    ii        /  •  ••  'i  •  e 

,\.    fl-af.!'!"'"'  •<•  '  •  'lU'imiHiUt     ii,    (.  ,iui.. n   a.-i.ii    t~l-^ 


x_   ejllo   JivHro  vsauv    t'<jua_    JIK>    nuc  t'o 
tic«>WHOilu>  tr>  LxOilo  -pfaco  ,  Jo  <oua_  CiUx 

u.fn    --ti.Uito     « claiit    jsouo    au<Cb    fin,    jt> 
•  -   •  ' 


FACSIMILE    OF   OKDEK     OF     ADMISSION     TO   THE   ROYAL     MILITARY     SCHOOL     AT     PARIS. 

Reproduced  by  kind  permission  of  Prince  Victor  Napoleon.     Hitherto  unpublished. 


sary,  then,  for  a  time.  The  place  settled 
on  was  Autun,  where  Joseph  was  to  enter 
college,  and  there  in  January,  1779,  Charles 
Bonaparte  arrived  with  the  two  boys. 

Napoleon  was  nine  and  a  half  years  old 
when  he  entered  the  school  at  Autun.  He 
remained  three  months,  and  in  that  time 
made  sufficient  progress  to  fulfil  the  require- 
ments at  Brienne.  The  principal  record 


of  the  boy's  conduct  at  Autun  comes  from 
Abbe  Chardon,  who  was  at  the  head  of 
the  primary  department.  He  says  of  his 
pupil : 

"  Napoleon  brought  to  Autun  a  sombre,  thoughtful 
character.  He  was  interested  in  no  one,  and  found 
his  amusements  by  himself.  He  rarely  had  a  com- 
panion in  his  walks.  He  was  quick  to  learn,  and 
quick  of  apprehension  in  all  ways.  When  I  gave 


THE  INFLUENCES  AT  BRIENNE. 


him  a  lesson,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me  with  parted 
lips  ;  but  if  I  recapitulated  anything  I  had  said,  his 
interest  was  gone,  as  he  plainly  showed  by  his  man- 
ner. When  reproved  for  this,  he  would  answer 
coldly,  I  might  almost  say  with  an  imperious  air,  '  I 
know  it  already,  sir.'  " 


AT    SCHOOL    AT    BRIENNE. 

When  he  went  to  Brienne,  Napoleon  left 
his  brother  Joseph  behind  at  Autun.  The 
boy  had  not  now  one  familiar  feature  in 
his  life.  The  school  at  Brienne  was  made 
up  of  about  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pupils,  half  of  whom  were  supported  by  the 
government.  They  were  sons  of  nobles, 
who,  generally,  had  little  but  their  great 


names,  and  whose  rule  for  getting  on  in 
the  world  was  the  rule  of  the  old  regime — 
secure  a  powerful  patron,  and,  by  flattery 
and  servile  attentions,  continue  in  his  train. 
Young  Bonaparte  heard  little  but  boasting, 
and  saw  little  but  vanity.  His  first  lessons 
in  French  society  were  the  doubtful  ones 
of  the  parasite  and  courtier.  The  motto 
which  he  saw  everywhere  practised  was, 
"  The  end  justifies  the  means."  His  teachers 
were  not  strong  enough  men  to  counteract 
this  influence.  The  military  schools  of 
France  were  at  this  time  in  the  hands  of 
religious  orders,  and  the  Minim  Brothers, 
who  had  charge  of  Brienne,  were  principally 
celebrated  for  their  ignorance.  They  cer- 


PORTRAIT  OF  BONAPARTE,  DONE  IN  CRAYON,  BY  ONE  OF  HIS  SCHOOLFELLOWS. 

This  sketch,  which  used  to  figure  in  the  Musee  des  Souverains,  became  afterwards  the  property  of 
Monsieur  de  Beaudicourt,  who  lately  presented  it  to  the  Louvre.  It  possesses  an  exceptional  interest. 
Executed  at  Brienne  by  one  of  the  schoolfellows  of  the  future  Caesar,  it  may  be  considered  as  the  first 
portrait  of  Bonaparte  taken  from  life.  Under  it  are  these  words  written  in  pencil : 

"  Mio  caro  amico  Buonaparte.     Pontormini  del  1785  Tournone." 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


talnly  could  not  change  the  arrogant  and 
false  notions  of  their  aristocratic  young 
pupils. 

It  was  a  dangerous  experiment  to  place 
in  such  surroundings  a  boy  like  the  young 
Napoleon,  proud,  ambitious,  jealous  ;  lack- 
ing any  healthful  moral  training  ;  possess- 
ing an  Italian  indifference  to  truth  and  the 
rights  of  others  ;  already  conscious  that  he 
had  his  own  way  to  make  in  the  world,  and 
inspired  by  a  determination  to  do  it. 

From  the  first  the  atmosphere  at  Brienne 
was  hateful  to  the  boy.  His  comrades 
were  French,  and  it  was  the  French  who 
had  subdued  Corsica.  They  taunted  him 
with  it  sometimes,  and  he  told  them  that 
had  there  been  but  four  to  one,  Corsica 
would  never  have  been  conquered,  but 
that  the  French  came  ten  to  one.  When 
they  said  :  "  But  your  father  submitted," 
he  said  bitterly  :  "  I  shall  never  forgive 
him  for  it."  As  for  Paoli,  he  told  them, 
proudly,  "  He  is  a  good  man.  I  wish  I 
could  be  like  him." 

He  had  trouble  with  the  new  language. 
They  jeered  at  him  because  of  it.  His 
name  was  strange  ;  la  paille  au  nez  was  the 
nickname  they  made  from  Napoleon. 

He  was  poor  ;  they  were  rich.  The  con- 
temptuous treatment  he  received  because 
of  his  poverty  was  such  that  he  begged 
to  be  taken  home. 

"My  father  [he  wrote],  if  you  or  my  protectors 
cannot  give  me  the  means  of  sustaining  myself  more 
honorably  in  the  house  where  I  am,  please  let  me 
return  home  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  tired  of  pov- 
erty and  of  the  jeers  of  insolent  scholars  who  are 
superior  to  me  only  in  their  fortune,  for  there  is  not 
one  among  them  who  feels  one  hundredth  part  of  the 
noble  sentiment  which  animates  me.  Must  your  son, 
sir,  continually  be  the  butt  of  these  boobies,  who, 
vain  of  the  luxuries  which  they  enjoy,  insult  me  by 
their  laughter  at  the  privations  which  I  am  forced 
to  endure?  No,  father,  no!  If  fortune  refuses  to 
smile  upon  me,  take  me  from  Brienne,  and  make  me, 
if  you  will,  a  mechanic.  From  these  words  you 
may  judge  of  my  despair.  This  letter,  sir,  please 
believe,  is  not  dictated  by  a  vain  desire  to  enjoy 
extravagant  amusements.  I  have  no  such  wish.  I 
feel  simply  that  it  is  necessary  to  show  my  compan- 
ions that  I  can  procure  them  as  well  as  they,  if  I 
wish  to  do  so. 

"  Your  respectful  and  affectionate  son, 

"  BONAPARTE." 

Charles  Bonaparte,  always  in  pursuit  of 
pleasure  and  his  inheritance,  could  not  help 
his  son.  Napoleon  made  other  attempts 
to  escape,  even  offering  himself,  it  is  said, 
to  the  British  Admiralty  as  a  sailor,  and 
once,  at  least,  begging  Monsieur  de  Mar- 
boeuf,  the  Governor-General  of  Corsica, 
who  had  aided  Charles  Bonaparte  in  secur- 
ing places  for  both  boys,  to  withdraw  his 


protection.  The  incident  which  led  to  this 
was  characteristic  of  the  school.  The  su- 
percilious young  nobles  taunted  him  with 
his  father's  position  ;  it  was  nothing  but 
that  of  a  poor  tipstaff,  they  said.  Young 
Bonaparte,  stung  by  what  he  thought  an 
insult,  attacked  his  tormentors,  and,  being 
caught  in  the  act,  was  shut  up.  He  imme- 
diately wrote  to  the  Count  de  Marboeuf  a 
letter  of  remarkable  qualities  in  so  young 
a  boy  and  in  such  circumstances.  After 
explaining  the  incident  he  said  : 

"  Now,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  if  I  am  guilty,  if  my 
liberty  has  been  taken  from  me  justly,  have  the  good- 
ness to  add  to  the  kindnesses  which  you  have  shown 
me  one  thing  more — take  me  from  Brienne  and  with- 
draw your  protection  ;  it  would  be  robbery  on  my  part 
to  keep  it  any  longer  from  one  who  deserves  it  more 
than  I  do.  I  shall  never,  sir,  be  worthier  of  it  than  I 
am  now.  I  shall  never  cure  myself  of  an  impetuosity 
which  is  all  the  more  dangerous  because  I  believe  its 
motive  is  sacred.  Whatever  idea  of  self-interest  in- 
fluences me,  I  shall  never  have  control  enough  to  see 
my  father,  an  honorable  man,  dragged  in  the  mud. 
I  shall  always,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  feel  too  deeply  in 
these  circumstances  to  limit  myself  to  complaining  to 
my  superior.  I  shall  always  feel  that  a  good  son  ought 
not  to  allow  another  to  avenge  such  an  outrage.  As 
for  the  benefits  which  you  have  rained  upon  me,  they 
will  never  be  forgotten.  I  shall  say  I  had  gained  an 
honorable  protection,  but  Heaven  denied  me  the  vir- 
tues which  were  necessary  in  order  to  profit  by  it. " 

In  the  end  Napoleon  saw  that  there  was 
no  way  for  him  but  to  remain  at  Brienne, 
galled  by  poverty  and  formalism. 

It  would  be  unreasonable  to  suppose  that 
there  was  no  relief  to  this  sombre  life.  The 
boy  won  recognition  more  than  once  from 
his  companions  by  his  bravery  and  skill  in 
defending  his  rights.  He  was  not  only 
valorous;  he  was  generous,  and  "preferred 
going  to  prison  himself  to  denouncing  his 
comrades  who  had  done  wrong."  Young 
Napoleon  found,  soon,  that  if  there  were 
things  for  which  he  was  ridiculed,  there 
were  others  for  which  he  was  applauded. 

He  made  friends,  particularly  among  his 
teachers  ;  and  to  one  of  his  comrades,  Bour- 
rienne,  he  remained  attached  for  years. 
"  You  never  laugh  at  me  ;  you  like  me,"  he 
said  to  his  friend.  Those  who  found  him 
morose  and  surly,  did  not  realize  that  be- 
neath the  reserved,  sullen  exterior  of  the 
little  Corsican  boy  there  was  a  proud  and 
passionate  heart  aching  for  love  and  recog- 
nition; that  it  was  sensitiveness  rather  than 
arrogance  which  drove  him  away  from  his 
mates. 

At  the  end  of  five  and  one-half  years 
Napoleon  was  promoted  to  the  military 
school  at  Paris.  The  choice  of  pupils  for 
this  school  was  made  by  an  inspector,  at 
this  time  one  Chevalier  de  K£ralio,  an  amia- 


AT   THE  MILITARY  SCHOOL    OF  PARIS. 


ble  old  man,  who  was  fond  of  playing  with 
the  boys  as  well  as  examining  them.  He 
was  particularly  pleased  with  Napoleon, 
and  named  him  for  promotion  in  spite  of 
his  being  strong  in  nothing  but  mathemat- 
ics, and  not  yet  being  of  the  age  required 
by  the  regulations.  The  teachers  protested, 
but  De  Ke"ralio  insisted. 

"  I  know  what  1  am  doing,"  he  said.  "  If 
I  put  the  rules  aside  in  this  case,  it  is  not  to 
do  his  family  a  favor — I  do  not  know  them. 
It  is  because  of  the  child  himself.  I  have 
seen  a  spark  here  which  cannot  be  too 
carefully  cultivated." 


De  Keralio  died  before  the  nominations 
were  made,  but  his  wishes  in  regard  to 
young  Bonaparte  were  carried  out.  The 
recommendation  which  sent  him  up  is  curi- 
ous. The  notes  read  : 


,  "  Monsieur  de  Bonaparte  ;  height  four  feet,  ten 
inches  and  ten  lines  ;  he  has  passed  his  fourth  exam- 
ination ;  good  constitution,  excellent  health  ;  submis- 
sive character,  frank  and  grateful  ;  regular  in  conduct ; 
has  distinguished  himself  by  his  application  to  mathe- 
matics ;  is  passably  well  up  in  history  and  geogra- 
phy ;  is  behindhand  in  his  Latin.  Will  make  an 
excellent  sailor.  Deserves  to  be  sent  to  the  school 
in  Paris." 


PENCIL    SKETCHES     BY    DAVID,    REPRESENTING     BONAPARTE    AT     BK1ENNE,    BONAPARTE    GENERAL   OF    THE   ARMY     OF    ITALY, 

BONAPARTE   AS   EMPEROR. 


CHAPTER    II. 


NAPOLEON    IN    PARIS.— LIEUTENANT    OF    ARTILLERY.— LITERARY    WORK.— 
NAPOLEON    AND    THE    REVOLUTION. 


IT  was  in  October,  1784,  that  Napoleon 
was  placed  in  the  Ecole  Militaire  at  Paris, 
the  same  school  which  still  faces  the 
Champ  de  Mars.  He  was  fifteen  years 
old  at  the  time,  a  thin-faced,  awkward, 
countrified  boy,  who  stared  open-mouthed 
at  the  Paris  street  sights  and  seemed  singu- 
larly out  of  place  to  those  who  saw  him  in 
the  capital  for  the  first  time. 

Napoleon  found  his  new  associates  even 
more  distasteful  than  those  _at  Brienne  had 
been.  The  pupils  of  the  Ecole  Militaire 
were  sons  of  soldiers  and  provincial  gentle- 
men, educated  gratuitously,  and  rich  young 
men  who  paid  for  their  privileges.  The 
practices  of  the  school  were  luxurious. 
There  was  a  large  staff  of  servants,  costly 
stables,  several  courses  at  meals.  Those 


who  were  rich  spent  freely  ;  most  of  those 
who  were  poor  ran  in  debt.  Napoleon 
could  not  pay  his  share  in  the  lunches  and 
gifts  which  his  mates  offered  now  and  then 
to  teachers  and  fellows.  He  saw  his  sister 
Eliza,  who  was  at  Madame  de  Maintenon's 
school  at  St.  Cyr,  weep  one  day  for  the 
same  reason.  He  would  not  borrow.  "My 
mother  has  already  too  many  expenses,  and 
I  have  no  business  to  increase  them  by  ex- 
travagances which  are  simply  imposed  upon 
me  by  the  stupid  folly  of  my  comrades." 
But  he  did  complain  loudly  to  his  friends. 
The  Permons,  a  Corsican  family  living  on 
the  Quai  Conti,  who  made  Napoleon  thor- 
oughly at  home  with  them,  even  holding  a 
room  at  his  disposal,  frequently  discussed 
these  complaints.  Was  it  vanity  and  envy, 


fj«uf(i<    Of    ,/U  ff.i   •}«.   uxov)  (lii.pjv.  /Ln/itl  "bt  x .'MtdmiuJf 

f  (  '  «-  J        ~ ' 


'.•  fcMul  iVxiA.  crtlc  '.ctlTc-   t' 


FACSIMILE   OF   COMMISSION    AS   SECOND    LIEUTENANT   OF   ARTILLEKY. 

Reproduced  by  kind  permission  of  Prince  Victor  Napoleon.     Hitherto  unpublished. 


or  a  wounded  pride  and  just  indignation  ? 
The  latter,  said  Monsieur  Permon.  This 
feeling  was  so  profound  with  Napoleon, 
that,  with  his  natural  instinct  for  regulating 
whatever  was  displeasing  to  him,  he  pre- 
pared a  memorial  to  the  government,  full 
of  good,  practical  sense,  on  the  useless 
luxury  of  the  pupils. 

A  year  in  Paris  finished  Napoleon's  mili- 


tary education,  and  in  October,  1785,  when 
sixteen  years  old,  he  received  his  appoint- 
ment as  second  lieutenant  of  the  artillery 
in  a  regiment  stationed  at  Valence.  Out 
of  the  fifty-eight  pupils  entitled  that  year 
to  the  promotion  of  second  lieutenant,  but 
six  went  to  the  artillery ;  of  these  six, 
Napoleon  was  one.  His  examiner  said  of 
him  : 


LIEUTENANT  OF  ARTILLERY. 


"  Reserved  and  studious,  he  prefers  study  to  any 
amusement,  and  enjoys  reading  the  best  authors  ; 
applies  himself  earnestly  to  the  abstract  sciences  ; 
cares  little  for  anything  else.  He  is  silent  and  loves 
solitude.  He  is  capricious,  haughty,  and  excessively 
egotistical  ;  talks  little,  but  is  quick  and  energetic  in 
his  replies,  prompt  and  severe  in  his  repartees  ;  has 
great  pride  and  ambitions,  aspiring  to  anything. 
The  young  man  is  worthy  of  patronage." 

LIEUTENANT    OF    ARTILLERY. 

He  left  Paris  at  once,  on  money  bor- 
rowed from  a  cloth  mer- 
chant whom  his  father  had 
patronized,  not  sorry, 
probably,  that  his  school- 
days were  over,  though  it 
is  certain  that  all  of  those 
who  had  been  friendly  to 
him  in  this  period  he  never 
forgot  in  the  future.  Sev- 
eral of  his  old  teachers  at 
Brienne  received  pen- 
sions; one  was  made 
rector  of  the  School  of 
Fine  Arts  established  at 
Compiegne,  another  libra- 
rian at  Malmaison,  where 
the  porter  was  the  former 
porter  of  Brienne.  _  The 
professors  of  the  Ecole 
Militaire  were  equally  well 
taken  care  of,  as  well  as 
many  of  his  schoolmates. 
During  the  Consulate, 
learning  that  Madame  de 
Montesson,  wife  of  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  was  still 
living,  he  sent  for  her  to 
come  to  the  Tuileries,  and 
asked  what  he  could  do 
for  her.  "  But,  General," 
protested  Madame  de 
Montesson,  "  I  have  no 
claim  upon  you." 

"You  do  not  know, 
then,"  replied  the  First 
Consul,  "  that  I  received 
my  first  crown  from  you. 
You  went  to  Brienne  with 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  to 
distribute  the  prizes,  and 
in  placing  a  laurel  wreath 
on  my  head,  you  said  : 
'  May  it  bring  you  happi- 
ness.' They  say  I  am  a 
fatalist,  Madame,  so  it  is 
quite  plain  that  I  could 
not  forget  what  you  no  longer  remember  ;" 
and  the  First  Consul  caused  the  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  of  yearly  income  left  Madame  de 
Montesson  by  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  but  con- 


fiscated in  the  Revolution,  to  be  returned. 
Later,  at  her  request,  he  raised  one  of  her 
relatives  to  the  rank  of  senator.  In  1805, 
when  emperor,  Napoleon  gave  a  life  pension 
of  six  thousand  francs  to  the  son  of  his  for- 
mer protector,  the  Count  de  Marboeuf,  and 
with  it  went  his  assurance  of  interest  and 
good  will  in  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
young  man's  life.  Generous,  forbearing, 
even  tender  remembrance  of  all  who  had 
been  associated  with  him  in  his  early  years. 


NAPOLEON    AT   THE   TL'II.ERIES,    AUGUST   1O,    1792. 

After  a  lithograph  by  Charlet.  Lieutenant  Bonaparte  on  the  terrace  of  the 
Tuileries,  watching  the  crowd  of  rioters  who  were  hastening  to  the  massacre  of 
the  Swiss  Guards. 


was  one  of  Napoleoi 
istics. 

His  new  position 
brilliant.      He   had 


's  marked  character- 
Valence  was  not 
annual   income  of 


10 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


two  hundred  and  twenty-four  dollars,  and 
there  was  much  hard  work.  It  was  inde- 
pendence, however,  and  life  opened  gayly 
to  the  young  officer.  He  made  many  ac- 
quaintances, and  for  the  first  time  saw 
something  of  society  and  women.  Ma- 
dame Colombier,  whose  salon  was  the 
leading  one  of  the  town,  received  him, 
introduced  him  to  powerful  friends,  and, 
indeed,  prophesied  a  great  future  for  him. 

The  sixteen-year-old  officer,  in  spite  of 
his  shabby  clothes  and  big  boots,  became 
a  favorite.  He  talked  brilliantly  and  free- 
ly, began  to  find  that  he  could  please,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  made  love  a  little — to 
Mademoiselle  Colombier — a  frolickingboy- 
and-girl  love,  the  object  of  whose  stolen 
rendezvous  was  to  eat  cherries  together. 
Mademoiselle  Mion-Desplaces,  a  pretty 
-Corsican  girl  in  Valence,  also  received  some 
attention  from  him.  Encouraged  by  his 
good  beginning,  and  ambitious  for  future 
success,  he  even  began  to  take  dancing 
lessons. 

Had  there  been  no  one  but  himself  to 
think  of,  everything  would  have  gone  easily, 
but  the  care  of  his  family  was  upon  him. 
His  father  had  died  a  few  months  before, 
February,  1785,  and  left  his  affairs  in  a  sad 
tangle.  Joseph,  now  nearly  eighteen  years 
of  age,  who  had  gone  to  Autun  in  1779  with 
Napoleon,  had  remained  there  until  1785. 
The  intention  was  to  make  him.  a  priest  ; 
suddenly  he  declared  that  he  would  not  be 
anything  but  a  soldier.  It  was  to  undo  all 
that  had  been  done  for  him  ;  but  his  father 
made  an  effort  to  get  him  into  a  military 
school.  Before  the  arrangements  were  com- 
plete Charles  Bonaparte  died,  and  Joseph 
was  obliged  to  return  to  Corsica,  where 
he  was  powerless  to  do  anything  for  his 
mother  and  for  the  four  young  children  at 
home  :  Louis,  aged  nine  ;  Pauline,  seven  ; 
Caroline,  five  ;  Jerome,  three. 

Lucien,  now  nearly  eleven  years  old,  was 
at  Brienne,  refusing  to  become  a  soldier,  as 
his  family  desired,  and  giving  his  time  to 
literature  ;  but  he  was  not  a  free  pupil,  and 
the  six  hundred  francs  a  year  needful  for 
him  was  a  heavy  tax.  Eliza  alone  was  pro- 
vided for.  She  had  entered  St.  Cyr  in  1 784 
as  one  of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  pupils 
supported  there  by  his  Majesty,  and  to  be 
a  demoiselle  de  St.  Cyr  was  to  be  fed,  taught, 
and  clothed  from  seven  to  twenty,  and,  on 
leaving,  to  receive  a  dowry  of  three  thou- 
sand francs,  a  trousseau,  and  one  hundred 
and  fifty  francs  for  travelling  expenses 
home. 

Napoleon  regarded  his  family's  situation 
more  seriously  than  did  his  brothers.  In- 


deed, when  at  Brienne  he  had  shown  an 
interest,  a  sense  of  responsibility,  and  a 
good  judgment  about  the  future  of  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  quite  amazing  in  so 
young  a  boy.  When  he  was  fifteen  years 
old,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  his  uncle,  which, 
for  its  keen  analysis,  would  do  credit  to  the 
father  of  a  family.  The  subject  was  his 
brother  Joseph's  desire  to  abandon  the 
Church  and  go  into  the  king's  service. 
Napoleon  is  summing  up  the  pros  and 
cons  : 

"  First.  As  father  says,  he  has  not  the  courage  to 
face  the  perils  of  an  action  ;  his  health  is  feeble,  and 
will  not  allow  him  to  support  the  fatigues  of  a  cam- 
paign ;  and  my  brother  looks  on  the  military  pro- 
fession only  from  a  garrison  point  of  view.  He 
would  make  a  good  garrison  officer.  He  is  well  made, 
light-minded,  knows  how  to  pay  compliments,  and 
with  these  talents  he  will  always  get  on  well  in 
society. 

Second.  He  has  received  an  ecclesiastical  educa- 
tion, and  it  is  very  late  to  undo  that.  Monseignor  the 
Bishop  of  Autun  would  have  given  him  a  fat  living, 
and  he  would  have  been  sure  to  become  a  bishop. 
What  an  advantage  for  the  family  !  Monseignor  of 
Autun  has  done  all  he  could  to  encourage  him  to  per- 
severe, promising  that  he  should  never  repent.  Should 
he  persist  in  wishing  to  be  a  soldier,  I  must  praise 
him,  provided  he  has  a  decided  taste  for  his  profes- 
sion, the  finest  of  all,  and  the  great  motive  power  of 
human  affairs.  .  .  .  He  wishes  to  be  a  military 
man.  That  is  all  very  well ;  but  in  what  corps  ?  Is  it 
the  marine  ?  First :  He  knows  nothing  of  mathe- 
matics ;  it  would  take  him  two  years  to  learn.  Second  : 
His  health  is  incompatible  with  the  sea.  Is  it  the 
engineers  ?  He  would  require  four  or  five  years  to 
learn  what  is  necessary,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time 
he  would  be  only  a  cadet.  Besides,  working  all  day 
long  would  not  suit  him.  The  same  reasons  which 
apply  to  the  engineers  apply  to  the  artillery,  with 
this  exception  ;  that  he  would  have  to  work  eighteen 
months  to  become  a  cadet,  and  eighteen  months  more 
to  become  an  officer.  .  .  .  No  doubt  he  wishes 
to  join  the  infantry.  .  .  .  And  what  is  the 
slender  artillery  officer?  Three-fourths  of  the  time  a 
scapegrace.  ...  A  last  effort  will  be  made  to 
persuade  him  to  enter  the  Church,  in  default  of  which, 
father  will  take  him  to  Corsica,  where  he  will  be  under 
his  eye." 

It  was  not  strange  that  Charles  Bonaparte 
considered  the  advice  of  a  son  who  could 
write  so  clear-headed  a  letter  as  the  one 
just  quoted,  nor  that  the  boy's  uncle  Lu- 
cien said,  before  dying  :  "  Remember,  that 
if  Joseph  is  the  older,  Napoleon  is  the  real 
head  of  the  house." 

Now  that  young  Bonaparte  was  in  an  in- 
dependent position,  he  felt  still  more  keenly 
his  responsibility,  and  it  was  for  this  reason, 
as  well  as  because  of  ill-health,  that  he  left 
his  regiment  in  February,  1787,  on  a  leave 
which  he  extended  to  nearly  fifteen  months, 
and  which  he  spent  in  energetic  efforts  to 
better  his  family's  situation,  working  to  re- 
establish salt  works  and  a  mulberry  plan- 


BONAPARTE'S  LITERARY  AMBITIONS. 


ii 


tation  in  which  they  were  concerned,  to 
secure  the  nomination  of  Lucien  to  the  col- 
lege at  Aix,  and  to  place  Louis  at  a  French 
military  school. 


LITERARY    WORK. 

When  he  went  back  to  his  regiment,  now 
stationed  at  Auxonne,  he  denied  himself  to 
send  money  home,  and  spent  his  leisure  in 
desperate  work,  sleeping  but  six  hours,  eat- 
ing but  one  meal  a  day,  dressing  once  in  the 
week.  Like  all  the  young  men  of  the  coun- 
try who  had  been  animated  by  the  philoso- 
phers and  encyclopedists,  he  had  attempted 
literature,  and  at  this  moment  was  finishing 
a  history  of  Corsica,  a  portion  of  which  he 
had  written  at  Valence  and  submitted  to 
the  Abbe  Raynal,  who  had  encouraged  him 
to  go  on.  The  manuscript  was  completed 
and  ready  for  publication  in  1788,  and  the 
author  made  heroic  efforts  to  find  some  one 
who  would  accept  a  dedication,  as  well  as 
some  one  who  would  publish  it.  Before  he 
had  succeeded,  events  had  crowded  the 
work  out  of  sight,  and  other  ambitions 
occupied  his  forces.  Napoleon  had  many 
literary  projects  on  hand  at  this  time.  He 


had  been  a  prodigious  reader,  and  was 
never  so  happy  as  when  he  could  save  a  few 
cents  with  which  to  buy  second-hand  books. 
From  everything  he  read  he  made  long  ex- 
tracts, and  kept  a  book  of  "  thoughts." 
Most  curious  are  some  of  these  fragments, 
reflections  on  the  beginning  of  society,  on 
love,  on  nature.  They  show  that  he  was 
passionately  absorbed  in  forming  ideas  on 
the  great  questions  of  life  and  its  relations. 

Besides  his  history  of  Corsica,  he  had 
already  written  several  fragments,  among 
them  a  romance,  an  historical  drama  called 
the  "  Count  of  Essex,"  and  a  story,  the 
"  Masque  Prophete."  He  undertook,  too, 
to  write  a  sentimental  journey  in  the  style 
of  Sterne,  describing  a  trip  from  Valence 
to  Mont-Cenis.  Later  he  competed  for 
a  prize  offered  by  the  Academy  of  Lyons 
on  the  subject  :  "  To  determine  what  truths 
and  feelings  should  be  inculcated  in  men  for 
their  happiness."  He  failed  in  the  contest ; 
indeed,  the  essay  was  severely  criticised  for 
its  incoherency  and  poor  style. 

The  Revolution  of  1789  turned  Napo- 
leon's mind  to  an  ambition  greater  than 
that  of  writing  the  history  of  Corsica — he 
would  free  Corsica.  The  National  Assem- 


BONAPARTE'S  FIRST  BATTLE. 

From  a  lithograph  by  Raffet.  Bonaparte  first  took  up  arms  in  Sardinia,  and  even  received  there  a  slight 
wound  in  the  leg.  In  the  beginning  of  1793  he  took  part  in  an  expedition  against  the  island  ;  with  two  Corsican 
battalions  he  gained  possession  of  the  fort  of  St.  Etienne  and  the  islands  of  La  Madeleine.  This  was  his  first  mili- 
tary success.  But  the  naval  division  charged  to  disembark  troops  for  his  support  was  dispersed  by  a  storm  ;  the 
expedition  ended  in  failure,  and  the  young  Bonaparte  received  orders  to  abandon  his  conquest  and  return  to 
Corsica.  I  have  been  unable  to  find  any  other  picture  consecrated  to  this  feat  of  arms.— A.  D. 


PE    AT   THE   SltOE 


This  reproduction  of  the  original  water  color  is  of  particular  interest.  It  was  executed  during  the  siege,  that  is. 
In  1793,  by  a  Toulonese  artist  named  Gregoire.  One  may  say  that  it  is  the  unique  original  picture  dating  from  that 
period.  It  was  not  till  after  Arcola  that  artists  began  going  back  to  the  siege  of  Toulon,  and  even  to  the  Sardinian 
campaign,  to  paint  Bonaparte's  brilliant  actions.  In  Gregoire's  fine  sepia  the  young  officer  is  observing,  from  the 
parapet  of  the  fort,  the  English  fleet. 


bly  had  lifted  the  island  from  its  inferior 
relation  and  made  it  a  department  of 
France,  but  sentiment  was  much  divided, 
and  the  ferment  was  similar  to  that  which 
agitated  France.  Napoleon,  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  progress  of  the  new  liberal 
ideas,  and  seeing,  too,  the  opportunity  for  a 
soldier  and  an  agitator  among  his  country- 
men, hastened  home,  where  he  spent  some 
twenty-five  months  out  of  the  next  two  and 
a  half  years.  That  the  young  officer  spent 
five-sixths  of  his  time  in  Corsica,  instead  of 
in  service,  and  that  he  in  more  than  one 
instance  pleaded  reasons  for  leaves  of  ab- 
sence which  one  would  have  to  be  exceed- 
ingly unsophisticated  not  to  see  were 
trumped  up  for  the  occasion,  cannot  be 
attributed  merely  to  duplicity  of  character 
and  contempt  for  authority.  He  was  doing 
only  what  he  had  learned  to  do  at  the 
military  schools  of  Brienne  and  Paris,  and 
what  he  saw  practised  about  him  in  the 
army.  Indeed,  the  whole  French  army  at 
that  period  made  a  business  of  shirking 
duty.  Every  minister  of  war  in  the  period 
complains  of  the  incessant  desertions 
among  the  common  soldiers.  Among  the 
officers  it  was  no  better.  True,  they  did  not 


desert  ;  they  held  their  places  and — did 
nothing.  "Those  who  were  rich  and  well 
born  had  no  need  to  work,"  says  the 
Marshal  Due  de  Broglie.  "  They  were 
promoted  by  favoritism.  Those  who  were 
poor  and  from  the  provinces  had  no  need 
to  work  either.  It  did  them  no  good  if 
they  did,  for,  not  having  patronage,  they 
could  not  advance."  The  Comte  de  Saint- 
Germain  said  in  regard  to  the  officers : 
"  There  is  not  one  who  is  in  active  service  ; 
they  one  and  all  amuse  themselves  and 
look  out  for  their  own  affairs." 

Napoleon,  tormented  by  the  desire  to 
help  his  family,  goaded  by  his  ambition 
and  that  imperative  need  of  action  and 
achievement  with  which  he  had  been  born, 
still  divided  in  his  allegiance  between 
France  and  Corsica,  could  not  have  been 
expected,  in  his  environment,  to  take  noth- 
ing more  than  the  leaves  allowed  by  law. 

PRIVATION    AND    ECONOMIES. 

Revolutionary  agitation  did  not  absorb 
all  the  time  he  was  in  Corsica.  Never  did 
he  work  harder  for  his  family.  The  por- 
tion of  this  two  and  a  half  years  which  he 


LIEUTENANT-COLONEL   BONAPARTE 

Engraved  by  Edwards. 

spent  in  France,  he  was  accompanied  by 
Louis,  whose  tutor  he  had  become,  and  he 
suffered  every  deprivation  to  help  him. 
Napoleon's  income  at  that  time  was  sixty- 
five  cents  a  day.  This  meant  that  he  must 
live  in  wretched  rooms,  prepare  himself 
the  broth  on  which  he  and  his  brother 


OF  THE    CORSICAN   VOLUNTEERS. 

After  Philippoteaux. 

dined,  never  go  to  a  cafe,  brush  his  own 
clothes,  give  Louis  lessons.  He  did  it 
bravely.  "  I  breakfasted  off  dry  bread, 
but  I  bolted  my  door  on  my  poverty."  he 
said  once  to  a  young  officer  complaining 
of  the  economies  he  must  make  on  two 
hundred  dollars  a  month. 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


Economy  and  privation  were  always 
more  supportable  to  him  than  borrow- 
ing. He  detested  irregularities  in  financial 
matters.  "Your  finances  are  deplorably 
conducted,  apparently  on  metaphysical 
principles.  Believe  me,  money  is  a  very 
physical  thing,"  he  once  said  to  Joseph, 
when  the  latter,  as  King  of  Naples,  could 
not  make  both  ends  meet.  He  put  Jerome 
to  sea  largely  to  stop  his  reckless  expendi- 
tures. (At  fifteen  that  young  man  paid 
three  thousand  two  hundred  dollars  for  a 
shaving  case  "containing  everything  ex- 
cept the  beard  to  enable  its  owner  to  use 
it.")  Some  of  the 
most  furious  scenes 
which  occurred  be- 
tween Napoleon  and 
Josephine  were  be- 
cause she  was  con- 
tinually in  debt . 
After  the  divorce  he 
frequently  cautioned 
her  to  be  watchful  of 
her  money.  "Think 
what  a  bad  opinion 
I  should  have  of  you 
if  I  knew  you  were 
in  debt  with  an  in- 
•come  of  six  hundred 
thousand  dollars  a 
year,"  he  wrote  her 
in  1813. 

The  methodical 
habits  of  Marie 
Louise  were  a  con- 
stant satisfaction  to 
Napoleon.  "  She 
settles  all  her  ac- 
counts once  a  week, 
deprives  herself  of 
new  gowns  if  neces- 
sary, and  imposes 
privations  upon  her- 
self in  order  to  keep 
outof  debt,"  hesaidproudly.  Abillof  sixty- 


BONAPARTE,    LIEUTENANT   OF   ARTILLERY. 

From  a  water  color  in  the  collection  of  Baron  Larrey. 
In  spite  of  many  efforts,  I  have  been  unable  to  discover 
the  name  of  the  author  of  this  charming  picture,  or  the 
date  of  its  execution.  This  is  the  first  time  it  has  been 
reproduced.— A.  D. 


the  island  had  made  to  the  French  govern- 
ment of  the  way  he  had  handled  his  bat- 
talion of  National  Guards  in  a  riot  at 
Ajaccio,  Napoleon  lost  his  place  in  the 
French  army.  He  came  to  Paris  in  the 
spring  of  1792,  hoping  to  regain  it.  But 
in  the  confused  condition  of  public  affairs 
little  attention  was  given  to  such  cases, 
and  he  was  obliged  to  wait. 

Almost  penniless,  he  dined  on  six-cent 
dishes  in  cheap  restaurants,  pawned  his 
watch,  and  with  Bourrienne  devised  schemes 
for  making  a  fortune.  One  was  to  rent 
some  new  houses  going  up  in  the  city  and 
to  sub-let  them. 
While  he  waited  he 
saw  the  famous  days 
of  the  "Second 
Revolution  " — the 
zoth  of  June,  when 
the  mob  surrounded 
the  Tuileries,  over- 
ran the  palace,  put 
the  bonnet  rouge  on 
Louis  XVI. 's  head, 
did  everything  but 
strike,  as  the  agita- 
tors had  intended. 
Napoleon  and  Bour- 
rienne, loitering  on 
the  outskirts,  saw 
the  outrages,  and  he 
said,  in  disgust  : 

"  Che  cog  I  tone,  why 
did  they  allow  these 
brutes  to  come  in  ? 
They  ought  to  have 
shot  down  five  or  six 
hundred  of  them  with 
cannon,  and  the  rest 
would  soon  have 
run." 

He  saw  the    loth 
of  August,  when  the 
king  was    deposed. 
He  was  still  in  Paris  when  the  horrible  Sep- 


two  francsand  thirty-two  centimes  was  once  tember  massacres  began — those  massacres 

sent  to  him  for  window  blinds  placed  in  the  in  which,  to  "  save  the  country,"  the  fanati- 

salon  of  the  Princess  Borghese.     "As  I  did  cal  and  terrified  populace  resolved  to  put 

not  order  this  expenditure,  which  ought  not  "  rivers  of  blood"  between  Paris  and  the 

to  be  charged  to  my  budget,  the  princess  Emigre's.     All  these  excesses  filled  him  with 


will  pay  it,"  he  wrote  on  the  margin. 

It  was  not  parsimony.  It  was  the  man's 
sense  of  order.  No  one  was  more  gener- 
ous in  gifts,  pensions,  salaries  ;  but  it  irri- 
tated him  to  see  money  wasted  or  managed 
carelessly. 

NAPOLEON    AND    THE    REVOLUTION. 


disgust.  He  began  to  understand  that  the 
Revolution  he  admired  so  much  needed  a 
head. 

In  August  Napoleon  was  restored  to  the 
army.  The  following  June  found  him  with 
his  regiment  in  the  south  of  France.  In 
the  interval  spent  in  Corsica,  he  had  aban- 
doned Paoli  and  the  cause  of  Corsican 


Through  his  long  absence  in  Corsica,  and    independence.      His    old    hero    had    been 
the  complaints  which  the  conservatives  of    dragged,  in  spite  of  himself,  into  a  move- 


THE  SIEGE  OF   TOULON. 


ment  for  separating  the  island  from  France. 
Napoleon  had  taken  the  position  that  the 
French  government,  whatever  its  excesses, 
was  the  only  advocate  in  Europe  of  liberty 
and  equality,  and  that  Corsica  would  better 
remain  with  France  rather  than  seek  Eng- 
lish aid,  as  it  must  if  it  revolted.  But  he 
and  his  party  were  defeated,  and  he  with 
his  family  was  obliged  to  flee. 

The  Corsican  period  of  his  life  was  over  ; 
the  French  opened.  He  began  it  as  a 
thorough  republican.  The  evolution  of  his 
enthusiasm  for  the  Revolution  had  been 
natural  enough.  He  had  been  a  devoted 
believer  in  Rous- 
seau's principles. 
The  year  1789  had 
struck  down  the 
abuses  which  galled 
him  in  French  so- 
ciety and  govern- 
ment. After  the 
flight  of  the  king 
in  1791  hehad  taken 
the  oath  : 


"  I  swear  to  employ 
the  arms  placed  in  my 
hands  for  the  defence 
of  the  country,  and  to 
maintain  against  all  her 
enemies,  both  from 
within  and  from  with- 
out, the  Constitution  as 
declared  by  the  Na- 
tional Assembly  ;  to  die 
rather  than  to  suffer  the 
invasion  of  the  French 
territory  by  foreign 
troops,  and  to  obey 
orders  given  in  accord- 
ance with  the  decree  of 
the  National  Assem- 
bly." 


"  The   nation    is 
now  the  paramount 
object,"  he  wrote  ; 
"  my  natural  inclinations  are  now  in  har- 
mony with  my  duties." 

The  efforts  of  the  court  and  the  Emigre's 
to  overthrow  the  new  government  had 
increased  his  devotion  to  France.  "  My 
southern  blood  leaps  in  my  veins  with  the 
rapidity  of  the  Rhone,"  he  said,  when  the 
question  of  the  preservation  of  the  Consti- 
tution was  brought  up.  The  months  spent 
at  Paris  in  1792  had  only  intensified  his 
radical  notions.  Now  that  he  had  aban- 
doned his  country,  rather  than  assist  it  to 
fight  the  Revolution,  he  was  better  pre- 
pared than  ever  to  become  a  French- 
man. It  seemed  the  only  way  to  repair  his 
and  his  family's  fortune. 


JOSEPHINE  (MARIE  JOSEPHINE  ROSE)  TASCHER  DE  LA  PAGERIE. 
After  an  unpublished  miniature,  by  Rocher,  in  the  collec- 
tion of  the  Marquis  de  Girardin.  It  must  have  been  shortly 
after  Josephine's  arrival  in  France  (in  1778).  and  some  months 
after  her  marriage,  that  this  delicate  painting  was  done  from 
life.  It  is  the  only  one  known  to  me  representing  Josephine 
as  a  very  young  woman.— A.  D. 


FIRST    SUCCESS. 

The  condition  of  the  Bonapartes  on  ar- 
riving in  France  after  their  expulsion  from 
Corsica  was  abject.  Their  property  "  pil- 
laged, sacked,  and  burned,"  they  had  es- 
caped penniless — were,  in  fact,  refugees 
dependent  upon  French  bounty.  They 
wandered  from  place  to  place,  and  soon 
found  a  good  friend  in  Monsieur  Clary  of 
Marseilles,  a  soap-boiler,  with  two  pretty 
daughters,  Julie  and  De"sire"e,  and  Joseph 
and  Napoleon  became  inmates  of  his  house. 

It  was  not  as  a 
soldier  but  as  a 
writer  that  Napo- 
leon first  distin- 
guished himself  in 
this  new  period  of 
his  life.  An  insur- 
rection against  the 
government  had 
arisen  in  Marseilles. 
In  an  imaginary 
conversation  called 
le  souper  de  Beau- 
caire,  Napoleon 
discussed  the  situa- 
tion so  clearly  and 
justly  that  Sali- 
cetti,  Gasparin,  and 
Robespierre  the 
younger,  the  depu- 
ties who  were  look- 
ing after  the  South, 
ordered  the  paper 
published  at  public 
expense,  and  dis- 
tributed it  as  a  cam- 
paign document. 
More,  they  prom- 
ised to  favor  the  au- 
thor when  they  had 
an  opportunity. 
It  soon  came.  Toulon  had  opened  its 
doors  to  the  English  and  joined  Marseilles 
in  a  counter-revolution.  Napoleon  was  in 
the  force  sent  against  the  town,  and  he  was 
soon  promoted  to  the  command  of  the 
Second  Regiment  of  artillery.  His  energy 
and  skill  won  him  favorable  attention. 
He  saw  at  once  that  the  important  point 
was  not  besieging  the  town,  as  the  general 
in  command  was  doing  and  the  Convention 
had  ordered,  but  in  forcing  the  allied  fleet 
from  the  harbor,  when  the  town  must  fall 
of  itself.  But  the  commander-in-chief  was 
slow,  and  it  was  not  until  the  command 
was  changed  and  an  officer  of  experience 
and  wisdom  put  in  charge  that  Napoleon's 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


plans  were  listened  to.  The  new  general 
saw  at  once  their  value,  and  hastened  to 
carry  them  out.  The  result  was  th'e  with- 
drawal of  the  allies  in  December,  1793,  and 
the  fall  of  Toulon.  Bonaparte  was  men- 
tioned by  the  general-in-chief  as  "  one  of 
those  who  have  most  distinguished  them- 
selves in  aiding  me,"  and  in  February,  1794, 
was  made  general  of  brigade. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  it  was  at 
Toulon  that  Napoleon  first  came  in  contact 
with  the  English.  Here  he  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Junot,  Marmont,  and  Duroc. 
Barras,  too,  had  his  attention  drawn  to  him 
at  this  time. 

The  circumstances  which  brought  Junot 
and  Napoleon  together  at  Toulon  were  es- 
pecially heroic.  Some  one  was  needed  to 
carry  an  order  to  an  exposed  point.  Na- 
poleon asked  for  an  under  officer,  audacious 
and  intelligent.  Junot,  then  a  sergeant,  was 
sent.  "  Take  off  your  uniform  and  carry  this 
order  there,"  said  Napoleon,  indicating  the 
point. 


Junot  blushed  and  his  eyes  flashed.  "1 
am  not  a  spy,"  he  answered  ;  "  find  some 
one  beside  me  to  execute  such  an  order." 

"You  refuse  to  obey?"  said  Napoleon. 

"  I  am  ready  to  obey,"  answered  Junot, 
"but  I  will  go  in  my  uniform  or  not  go 
at  all.  It  is  honor  enough  then  for  these 
Englishmen." 

The  officer  smiled  and  let  him  go,  but 
he  took  pains  to  find  out  his  name. 

A  few  days  later  Napoleon  called  for 
some  one  in  the  ranks  who  wrote  a  good 
hand  to  come  to  him.  Junot  offered  him- 
self, and  sat  down  close  to  the  battery  to 
write  the  letter.  He  had  scarcely  finished 
when  a  bomb  thrown  by  the  English  burst 
near  by  and  covered  him  and  his  letter 
with  earth. 

"Good,"  said  Junot,  laughing,  "I  shall 
not  need  any  sand  to  dry  the  ink." 

Bonaparte  looked  at  the  young  man, 
who  had  not  even  trembled  at  the  danger. 
From  that  time  the  young  sergeant  re- 
mained with  the  commander  of  artillery. 


CHAPTER    III. 

NAPOLEON    AND     ROBESPIERRE.— OUT     OF     WORK.— GENERAL-IN-CHIEF   OF    THE 

ARMY   OF    THE    INTERIOR. 


THE  favors  granted  Napoleon  for  his 
services  at  Toulon  were  extended  to  his 
family.  Madame  Bonaparte  was  helped 
by  the  municipality  of  Marseilles.  Joseph 
was  made  commissioner  of  war.  Lucien 
was  joined  to  the  Army  of  Italy,  and  in 
the  town  where  he  was  stationed  became 
famous  as  a  popular  orator — "  little  Robes- 
pierre," they  called  him.  He  began,  too, 
here  to  make  love  to  his  landlord's 
daughter,  Christine  Boyer,  afterwards  his 
wife. 

The  outlook  for  the  refugees  seemed 
very  good,  and  it  was  made  still  brighter 
by  the  very  particular  friendship  of  the 
younger  Robespierre  for  Napoleon.  This 
friendship  was  soon  increased  by  the  part 
Napoleon  played  in  a  campaign  of  a  month 
with  the  Army  of  Italy,  when,  largely  by  his 
genius,  the  seaboard  from  Nice  to  Genoa 
was  put  into  French  power.  If  this  Victory 
was  much  for  the  army  and  for  Robes- 
pierre, it  was  more  for  Napoleon.  He 
looked  from  the  Tende,  and  saw  for  the 
first  time  that  in  Italy  there  was  "a  land 
for  a  conqueror."  Robespierre  wrote  to 
his  brother,  the  real  head  of  the  govern- 
ment at  the  moment,  that  Napoleon  pos- 
sessed "  transcendent  merit."  He  engaged 


him  to  draw  up  a  plan  for  a  campaign  against 
Piedmont,  and  sent  him  on  a  secret  mission 
to  Genoa.  The  relations  between  the  two 
young  men  were,  in  fact,  very  close,  and, 
considering  the  position  of  Robespierre  the 
elder,  the  outlook  for  Bonaparte  was  good. 
That  Bonaparte  admired  the  powers  oi 
the  elder  Robespierre,  is  unquestionable 
He  was  sure  that  if  he  had  "  remained  in 
power,  he  would  have  reestablished  order 
and  law  ;  the  result  would  have  been  at- 
tained without  any  shocks,  because  it  would 
have  come  through  the  quiet  exercise  of 
power."  Nevertheless,  it  is  certain  that  the 
young  general  was  unwilling  to  come  into 
close  contact  with  the  Terrorist  leader,  as 
his  refusal  of  an  offer  to  go  to  Paris  to  take 
the  command  of  the  garrison  of  the  city 
shows.  No  doubt  his  refusal  was  partly 
due  to  his  ambition — he  thought  the  open- 
ing better  where  he  was — and  partly  due, 
too,  to  his  dislike  of  the  excesses  which 
the  government  was  practising.  That  he 
never  favored  the  policy  of  the  Terrorists, 
all  those  who  knew  him  testify,  and  there 
are  many  stories  of  his  efforts  at  this  time 
to  save  Emigre's  and  suspects  from  the  vio- 
lence of  the  rabid  patriots ;  even  to  save 
the  English  imprisoned  at  Toulon.  He  al- 


ROBESPIERRE,    MAXIMILIEN    (1758-1794). 

Robespierre  was  born  at  Arras  and  educated  in  Paris  for  the  law.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1781,  and 
returned  to  Arras  to  practice,  where  he  soon  became  known  as  a  successful  and  conscientious  advocate.  In  1783  he 
was  admitted  to  the  academy  of  the  town,  and  he  competed  for  prizes  offered  by  provincial  academies,  though  with- 
out success.  In  1789  he  was  elected  a  deputy  of  the  Tiers  £tats  to  the  States-General,  and  afterwards  to  the  Constit- 
uent Assembly.  He  obtained  great  influence  over  the  people  of  Paris  ;  and  when  the  Constituent  Assembly  dis- 
solved in  1791  he  was  crowned  with  Petion  an  "  incorruptible  patriot."  The  Girondins  accused  him  of  aspiring" 
to  the  dictatorship,  and  a  war  between  him  and  that  party  was  waged  until  their  expulsion  from  the  Convention, 
May  31,  1793.  On  July  27,  1793,  he  was  elected  to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety — the  real  executive  govern- 
ment of  France  at  the  moment — and  he  has  been  credited  with  being  the  inventor  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  which 
that  committee  inaugurated.  On  July  26,  1794,  Robespierre  declared  in  the  Convention  that  the  Terror  ought 
to  be  ended  and  deputies  who  had  exceeded  their  powers  punished.  His  enemies  used  his  speech  to  arouse  a 
revolt  against  him,  and  the  next  day,  gth  Thermidor.  he  was  arrested.  His  friends  rescued  him  and  took  him. 
to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  where  he  was  again  arrested.  In  the  arrest  he  was  horribly  wounded.  The  next  day  (28tb 
July)  he  was  executed  with  twenty-one  of  his  followers 


i8 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON 


ways  remembered  Robespierre  the  younger 
with  kindness,  and  when  he  was  in  power 
gave  Charlotte  Robespierre  a  pension. 

Things  had  begun  to  go  well  for  Bona- 
parte. His  poverty  passed.  If  his  plan  for 
an  Italian  campaign  succeeded,  he  might 
even  aspire  to  the  command  of  the  army. 
His  brothers  received  good  positions. 
Joseph  was  betrothed  to  Julie  Clary,  and 
life  went  gayly  at  Nice  and  Marseilles, 
where  Napoleon  had  about  him  many 
of  his  friends — Robespierre  and  his  sister  ; 
his  own  two  pretty  sisters  ;  Marmont,  and 
Junot,  who  was  deeply  in  love  with  Pauline. 
Suddenly  all  this  hope  and  happiness  were 
shattered.  On  the  gth  Thermidor  Robes- 
pierre fell,  and  all  who  had  favored  him 
were  suspected,  Napoleon  among  the  rest. 
His  secret  mission  to  Genoa  gave, a  pre- 
text for  his  arrest,  and  for  thirteen  days, 
in  August,  1794,  he  was  a  prisoner,  but 
through  his  friends  was  liberated. 

Soon  after  his  release,  came  an  appoint- 
ment to  join  an  expedition  against  Cor- 
sica. He  set  out,  but  the  undertaking  was 
a  failure,  and  the  spring  found  him  again 
without  a  place. 

OUT  OF  WORK. 

In  April,  1795,  Napoleon  received  orders 
to  join  the  Army  of  the  West.  When  he 
reached  Paris  he  found  that  it  was  the 
infantry  to  which  he  was  assigned.  Such 
a  change  was  considered  a  disgrace  in  the 
army.  He  refused  to  go.  "  A  great  many 
officers  could  command  a  brigade  better 
than  I  could,"  he  wrote  a  friend,  "  but  few 
could  command  the  artillery  so  well.  I 
retire,  satisfied  that  the  injustice  done  to 
the  service  will  be  sufficiently  felt  by  those 
who  know  how  to  appreciate  matters." 
But  though  he  might  call  himself  "  satis- 
fied," his  retirement  was  a  most  serious 
affair  for  him.  It  was  the  collapse  of  what 
seemed  to  be  a  career,  the  shutting  of  the 
gate  he  had  worked  so  fiercely  to  open. 

He  must  begin  again,  and  he  did  not  see 
how.  A  sort  of  despair  settled  over  him. 
"  He  declaimed  against  fate,"  says  the 
Duchess  d'Abrantes.  "  I  was  idle  and  dis- 
contented," he  says  of  himself.  He  went 
to  the  theatre  and  sat  sullen  and  inatten- 
tive through  the  gayest  of  plays.  "  He  had 
moments  of  fierce  hilarity,"  says  Bourri- 
enne. 

A  pathetic  distaste  of  effort  came  over 
him  at  times  ;  he  wanted  to  settle.  "If  I 
could  have  that  house,"  he  said  one  day  to 
Bourrienne,  pointing  to  an  empty  house 
near  by,  "  with  my  friends  and  a  cabriolet, 


I  should  be  the  happiest  of  men."  He  clung 
to   his  friends  with  a  sort  of  desperation, 
and  his  letters  to  Joseph  are  touching  in 
^the  extreme. 

Love  as  well  as  failure  caused  his  mel- 
ancholy. All  about  him,  indeed,  turned  his 
thoughts  to  marriage.  Joseph  was  now 
married,  and  his  happiness  made  him  en- 
vious. "  What  a  lucky  rascal  Joseph  is  !  " 
he  said.  Junot,  madly  in  love  with  Paul- 
ine, was  with  him.  The  two  young  men 
wandered  through  the  alleys  of  the  Jardin 
des  Plantes  and  discussed  Junot's  passion. 
In  listening  to  his  friend,  Napoleon  thought 
of  himself.  He  had  been  touched  by 
Desir^e -Clary,  Joseph's  sister-in-law.  Why 
not  try  to  win  her  ?  And  he  began  to  de- 
mand news  of  her  from  Joseph.  De"sire"e 
had  asked  for  his  portrait,  and  he  wrote  : 
"  I  shall  have  it  taken  for  her  ;  you  must 
give  it  to  her,  if  she  still  wants  it  ;  if  not, 
keep  it  yourself. "  He  was  melancholy  when 
he  did  not  have  news  of  her,  accused  Joseph 
of  purposely  omitting  her  name  from  his 
letters,  and  Desire"e  herself  of  forgetting 
him.  At  last  he  consulted  Joseph  :  "  If  I 
remain  here,  it  is  just  possible  that  I  might 
feel  inclined  to  commit  the  folly  of  marry- 
ing. I  should  be  glad  of  a  line  from  you 
on  the  subject.  You  might  perhaps  speak 
to  Eugenie's  [Desiree's]  brother,  and  let 
me  know  what  he  says,  and  then  it  will 
be  settled."  He  waited  the  answer  to  his 
overtures  "  with  impatience  "  ;  urged  his 
brother  to  arrange  things  so  that  nothing 
"  may  prevent  that  which  I  long  for."  But 
Desiree  was  obdurate.  Later  she  married 
Bernadotte  and  became  Queen  of  Sweden. 
Yet  in  all  these  varying  moods  he  was 
never  idle.  As  three  years  before,  he  and 
Bourrienne  indulged  in  financial  specula- 
tions ;  he  tried  to  persuade  Joseph  to  invest 
his  wife's  dot  in  the  property  of  the  emigres. 
He  prepared  memorials  on  the  political 
disorders  of  the  times  and  on  military 
questions,  and  he  pushed  his  brothers  as  if 
he  had  no  personal  ambition.  He  did  not 
neglect  to  make  friends  either.  The  most 
important  of  those  whom  he  cultivated  was 
Paul  Barras,  revolutionist,  conventionalist, 
member  of  the  Directory,  and  one  of  the 
most  influential  men  in  Paris  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  had  known  Napoleon  at  Tou- 
lon, and  showed  himself  disposed  to  be 
friendly.  "I  attached  myself  to  Barras," 
said  Napoleon  later,  "  because  I  knew  no 
one  else.  Robespierre  was  dead  ;  Barras 
was  playing  a  role :  I  had  to  attach  myself 
to  somebody  and  something."  One  of  his 
plans  for  himself  was  to  go  to  Turkey. 
For  two  or  three  years,  in  fact,  Napoleon 


THE    THIRTEENTH   VENDEMIAIRE. 


had  thought  of  the  Orient  as  a  possible  field  It  was  on  the  night  of  i2th  Vende'mi- 
for  his  genius,  and  his  mother  had  often  aire  that  Napoleon  was  appointed.  With 
worried  lest  he  should  go.  Just  now  it  incredible  rapidity  he  massed  the  men  and 
happened  that  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  asked  cannon  he  could  secure  at  the  openings 
the  French  for  aid  in  reorganizing  his  ar-  into  the  palace  and  at  the  points  of  ap- 
tillery  and  perfecting  the  defences  of  his  proach.  He  armed  even  the  members  of 
forts,  and  Napoleon  asked  to  be  allowed  to  the  Convention  as  a  reserve.  When  the 
undertake  the  work.  While  pushing  all  sections  marched  their  men  into  the  streets 
his  plans  with  extraordinary  enthusiasm,  and  upon  the  bridges  leading  to  the  Tuile- 
even  writing  Joseph  almost  daily  letters  ries,  they  were  met  by  a  fire  which  scattered 
about  what  he  would  do 
for  him  when  he  was 
settled  in  the  Orient,  he 
was  called  to  do  a  pieceof 
work  which  was  to  be  of 
importance  in  his  future. 

The  war  committee 
needed  plans  for  an  Ital- 
ian campaign  ;  the  head 
of  the  committee  was  in 
great  perplexity.  No- 
body knew  anything 
about  the  condition  of 
things  in  the  South.  By 
chance,  one  day,  one  of 
Napoleon's  acquaint- 
ances heard  of  the  diffi- 
culties and  recommended 
the  young  general.  The 
memorial  he  prepared  was 
so  excellent  that  he  was 
invited  into  the  topo- 
graphical bureau  of  the 
Committee  of  Public 
Safety.  His  knowledge, 
sense,  energy,  fire,  were 
so  remarkable  that  he 
made  strong  friends,  and 
he  became  an  important 
personage* 

Such  was  the  impres- 
sion he  made,  that  when. 
in  October,  1795,  the  gov- 
ernment was  threatened 
by  the  revolting  sections, 
Barras,  the  nominal  head 
of  the  defence,  asked  Na- 
poleon to  command  the 
forces  which  protected 
the  Tuileries,  where  the  Convention  had  them  at  once.  That  night  Paris  was  quiet. 
gone  into  permanent  session.  He  hesitated  The  next  day  Napoleon  was  made  general 
for  a  moment.  He  had  much  sympathy  of  division.  On  October  26th  he  was  ap- 
for  the  sections.  His  sagacity  conquered,  pointed  general-in-chief  of  the  Army  of  the 
The  Convention  stood  for  the  republic  ;  an  Interior. 
overthrow  now  meant  another  proscription, 

more  of  the  Terror,  perhaps  a  royalist  sue-    GENERAL-IN-CHIEF  OF   THE  ARMY  OF  THE 

INTERIOR 


NAPOLEON    IN    PR 


After  a  lithograph  by  Motte.  Bonaparte,  master  of  Toulon,  had  already  at- 
tained fame  when  the  events  of  Thermidor  imposed  a  sudden  check  on  his  career. 
His  relations  with  the  younger  Robespierre  laid  him  open  to  suspicion  :  he  was  sus- 
pended from  his  functions  and  put  under  arrest  by  the  deputies  of  the  Convention. 


cession,  an  English  invasion. 

"I  accept,"  he   said  to  Barras;  "but  I 
warn  you  that  once  my  sword  is  out  of  the 
scabbard  I  shall  not  replace  it  till  I  have    so  long  and  so  eagerly  had  come.     It  was 
established  order."  a  proud  position  for  a  young  man  o'f  twenty- 


At  last  the  opportunity  he  had  sought 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


six,  and   one  may  well  stop  and  ask  how  what  is,  but  what  might  be."    Certainly  in 

he  had  obtained  it.      The  answer  is  not  no    respect   had   he    been  worse   than    his 

difficult  for  one  who,  dismissing  the  preju-  environment,  and  in  many  respects  he  had 

dice   and    superstitions    which    have   long  been  far  above  it.     He  had  struggled  for 

enveloped  his  name,  studies  his  story  as  he  place,  not  that  he  might  have  ease,  but  that 

would  that  of  an  unknown  individual.    He  he  might  have  an  opportunity  for  action  ; 

had  won  his  place  as  any  poor  and  ambi-  not  that  he  might  amuse  himself,  but  that 

tious  boy  in  any  country  and  in  any  age  he  might  achieve  glory.     Nor  did  he  seek 

must  win  his — by  hard  work,  by  grasping  honors  merely  for  himself ;  it  was  that  he 

at   every   opportunity,  by    constant    self-  might  share  them  with  others. 


denial,  by  cour- 
age in  every 
failure,  by 
springing  to 
his  feet  after 
every  fall. 

He  succeeded 
because  he 
knew  every  de- 
tail of  his  busi- 
ness ("  There  is 
nothing  I  can- 
not do  for  my- 
self. If  there  is 
no  one  to  make 
powder  for  the 
cannon  I  can  do 
it ") ;  because 
neither  ridicule 
norcoldnessnor 
even  the  black 
discouragement 
which  made  him 
write  once  to 
Joseph, "  If  this 
state  of  things 
continuesl  shall 
end  by  not  turn- 
ing out  of  my 
path  when  a  car- 
riage passes," 
could  stop  him  ; 
because  he  had 
profound  faith 
in  himself.  "Do 
these  people 
imagine  that  I 
want  their  help 
to  rise  ?  They 
will  be  too  glad 

some  day  to  accept  mine.  My  sword  is  at  was  at  the  Permons',  where  Monsieur  Per- 
my  side,  and  I  will  go  far  with  it."  That  mon  had  just  died.  "He  was  like  a  son,  a 
he  had  misrepresented  conditions  more  brother."  This  relation  he  soon  tried  to 
than  once  to  secure  favor,  is  true;  but  in  change,  seeking  to  marry  the  beautiful 
doing  this  he  had  done  simply  what  he  saw  widow  Permon.  When  she  laughed  merrily 
done  all  about  him,  what  he  had  learned  at  the  idea,  for  she  was  many  years  his 
from  his  father,  what  the  oblique  morality  senior,  he  replied  that  the  age  of  his  wife 
of  the  day  justified.  That  he  had  shifted  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him  so  long 
opinions  and  allegiance,  is  equally  true  ;  but  as  she  did  not  look  over  thirty. 
he  who  in  the  French  Revolution  did  not  The  change  in  Bonaparte  himself  was 
shift  opinion  was  he  who  regarded  "  not  great.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  gone  about 


PEN  PORTRAIT  OF  BONAPARTE  IN  PROFILE.   LOUVRE 

By  Gros.  This  drawing,  which  I  discovered  among  the  portfolios  of 
the  Louvre,  is  one  of  the  most  precious  documents  of  Napoleonic  por- 
traiture. It  was  the  gift  of  Monsieur  Delestre.  the  pupil  and  biographer 
of  Gros.  In  this  clear  profile  we  see  already  all  that  characteristic  expres- 
sion sought  for  by  Gros  above  everything,  and  superbly  rendered  by 
him  soon  after  in  the  portrait  of  Bonaparte  at  Arcola.  I  imagine  that 
this  pen  sketch  was  preparatory  to  a  finished  portrait.— A.  D. 


The  first  use 
Bonaparte 
made  of  his 
power  after  he 
was  appointed 
general-in-chief 
of  the  Army  of 
the  Interior, 
was  for  his  fam- 
ily and  friends. 
Fifty  or  sixty 
thousand 
francs,  asst- 
gnats,  and 
dresses  go  to 
his  mother  and 
sisters  ;  Joseph 
is  to  have  a 
consulship;  "a 
roof,  a  table, 
and  carriage" 
are  at  his  dis- 
posal in  Paris  ; 
Louis  is  made  a 
lieutenant  and 
his  aide- de- 
camp ;  Lucien, 
commissioner 
of  war  ;  Junot 
and  Marmo  nt 
are  put  on  his 
staff.  He  for- 
gets nobody. 
The  very  day 
after  the  i3th 
Vende"miaire, 
when  his  cares 
andexcitements 
were  numerous 
and  intense,  he 


JOSEPHINE  DE  BEAUHARNAIS. 


Pans  "  in  an  awkward  and  ungainly  man- 
ner, with  a  shabby  round  hat  thrust  down 
over  his  eyes,  and  with  curls  (known  at 
that  time  as  oreilles  des  chiens]  badly  pow- 
dered and  badly  combed,  and  falling  over 
the  collar  of  the  iron-gray  coat  which  has 
since  become  so  celebrated ;  his  hands, 
long,  thin,  and  black,  without  gloves,  be- 
cause, he  said,  they  were  an  unnecessary 
expense  ;  wearing  ill-made  and  ill-cleaned 
boots."  The  majority  of  people  saw  in 
him  only  what  Monsieur  de  Pontecoulant, 


21 

who  took  him  into  the  War  Office,  had  seen 
at  their  first  interview  :  "  A  young  man 
with  a  wan  and  livid  complexion,  bowed 
shoulders,  and  a  weak  and  sickly  appear- 
ance." 

But  now,  installed  in  an  elegant  Mtel, 
driving  his  own  carriage,  careful  of  his 
person,  received  in  every  salon  where  he 
cared  to  go,  the  young  general-in-chief 
is  a  changed  man.  Success  has  had 
much  to  do  with  this  ;  love  has  perhaps 
had  more. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


NAPOLEON'S    COURTSHIP    AND    MARRIAGE.— HIS     DEVOTION    TO    JOSEPHINE. 


IN  the  five  months  spent  in  Paris  before 
the  1 3th  Vendemiaire,  Bonapartesaw  some- 
thing of  society.  One  interesting  company 
which  he  often  joined,  was  that  gathered 
about  Madame  Permon  at  a  hotel  in  the 
Rue  des  Filles  Saint-Thomas.  This  Ma- 
dame Permon  was  the  same  with  whom  he 
had  taken  refuge  frequently  in  the  days 
when  he  was  in  the  military  school  of 
Paris,  and  whom  he  had  visited  later,  in 
1792,  when  lingering  in  town  with  the  hope 
of  recovering  his  place  in  the  army.  On 
this  latter  occasion  he  had  even  exposed 
himself  to  aid  her  and  her  husband  to  es- 
cape the  fury  of  the  Terrorists  and  to  fly 
from  the  city.  Madame  Permon  had  re- 
turned to  Paris  in  the  spring  of  1795  f°r  a 
few  weeks,  and  numbers  of  her  old  friends 
had  gathered  about  her  as  before  the  Ter- 
ror, among  them,  Bonaparte. 

Another  house — and  one  of  very  differ- 
ent character — at  which  he  was  received, 
was  that  of  Barras.  The  9th  Thermidor, 
as  the  fall  of  Robespierre  is  called,  released 
Paris  from  a  strain  of  terror  so  great  that, 
in  reaction,  she  plunged  for  a  time  into 
violent  excess.  In  this  period  of  decadence 
Barras  was  sovereign.  Epicurean  by  na- 
ture, possessing  the  tastes,  culture,  and 
vices  of  the  old  regime,  he  was  better  fitted 
than  any  man  in  the  government  to  create 
and  direct  a  dissolute  and  luxurious  society. 
Into  this  set  Napoleon  was  introduced,  and 
more  than  once  he  expressed  his  astonish- 
ment to  Joseph  at  the  turn  things  had  taken 
in  Paris. 

"  The  pleasure-seekers  have  reappeared,  and  for- 
get, or,  rather,  remember  only  as  a  dream,  that  they 
ever  ceased  to  shine.  Libraries  are  open,  and  lec- 


tures on  history,  chemistry,  astronomy,  etc. ,  succeed 
each  other.  Everything  is  done  to  amuse  and  make 
life  agreeable.  One  has  no  time  to  think  ;  and  how- 
can  one  be  gloomy  in  this  busy  whirlwind  ?  Women 
are  everywhere — at  the  theatres,  on  the  promenades, 
in  the  libraries.  In  the  study  of  the  savant  you  meet 
some  that  are  charming.  Here  alone,  of  all  places 
in  the  world,  they  deserve  to  hold  the  helm.  The 
men  are  mad  over  them,  think  only  of  them,  live 
only  by  and  for  them.  A  woman  need  not  stay 
more  than  six  months  in  Paris  to  Ifarn  what  is  due 
her  and  what  is  her  empire.  .  .  .  This  great 
nation  has  given  itself  up  to  pleasure,  dancing,  and 
theatres,  and  women  have  become  the  principal  occu- 
pation. Ease,  luxury,  and  bon  ton  have  recovered 
their  throne  ;  the  Terror  is  remembered  only  as  a 
dream." 

Bonaparte  took  his  part  in  the  gayeties 
of  his  new  friends,  and  was  soon  on  easy 
terms  with  most  of  the  women  who  fre- 
quented the  salon  of  Barras,  even  with  the 
most  influential  of  them  all,  the  famous 
Madame  Tallien,  the  great  beauty  of  the 
Directory. 


JOSEPHINE    DE    BEAUHARNAIS. 

Among  the  women  whom  he  met  in  the 
salon  of  Madame  Tallien  and  at  Barras's 
own  house,  was  the  Viscountess  de  Beau- 
harnais  (nde  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie),  widow 
of  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  guillotined 
on  the  5th  Thermidor,  1794.  At  the  time  of 
the  marquis's  death  his  wife  was  a  prisoner. 
She  owed  her  release  to  Madame  Tallien, 
with  whom  she  since  had  been  on  intimate 
terms.  All  Madame  Tallien's  circle  had, 
indeed,  become  attached  to  Josephine  de 
Beauharnais,  and  with  Barras  she  was  on 
terms  of  intimacy  which  led  to  a  great 
amount  of  gossip.  Without  fortune,  hav- 


\ 


"ROSE   JOSEPHINE    BONAPARTE,    N'feE    DE    LA    PAGERIE. 

Companion  piece  to  portrait  on  page  23,  and  executed  at  same  time  and  place— Milan,  1796. 


ing  two  children  to  support,  still  trembling 
at  the  memory  of  her  imprisonment,  indo- 
lent and  vain,  it  is  not  remarkable  that 
Josephine  yielded  to  the  pleasures  of  the 
society  which  had  saved  her  from  prison 
and  which  now  opened  its  arms  to  her,  nor 
that  she  accepted  the  protection  of  the  pow- 
erful Director  Barras.  She  was  certainly 
one  of  the  regular  habitues  of  his  house,  and 
every  week  kept  court  for  him  at  her  little 


home  at  Croissy,  a  few  miles  from  Paris. 
The  Baron  Pasquier,  afterwards  one  of  the 
members  of  Napoleon's  Council  of  State, 
was  at  that  moment  living  in  poverty  at 
Croissy — and  was  a  neighbor  of  Josephine. 
In  his  "  Memoirs  "  he  has  left  a  paragraph 
on  the  gay  little  outings  taken  there  by 
Barras  and  his  friends. 

"  Her   house    was   next   to   ours,"  says 
Pasquier.     "  She  did  not  come  out  often  at 


"BONAPARTE,    GENERAL    EN    CHEF    DE    I.'ARMHE   D'lTALIE." 

"  Designed  after  nature,  and  engraved  at  Milan  in  1796."      This  is  supposed  to  be  the  first  engraving 
of  Napoleon  ever  made.     Below  the  print  runs  the  legend  : 

Italico  peperit  triumphc 


that  time,  rarely  more  than  once  a  week, 
to  receive  Barras  and  the  troop  which  al- 
ways followed  him.  From  early  in  the 
morning  we  saw  the  hampers  coming. 
Then  mounted  gendarmes  began  to  circu- 
late on  the  route  from  Nanterre  to  Croissy, 


— Hor.  Od.  3,  Lib.  2. 

for  the  young  Director  came  usually  on 
horseback. 

"  Madame  de  Beauharnais's  house  had, as 
is  often  the  case  among  Creoles,  an  appear- 
ance of  luxury  ;  but,  the  superfluous  aside, 
the  most  necessary  things  were  lacking. 


THE  LIFE  GF  NAPOLEON. 


Birds,  game,  rare  fruits,  were  piled  up  in  the 
kitchen  (this  was  the  time  of  our  greatest 
famine),  and  there  was  such  a  want  of  stew- 
ing-pans,  glasses,  and  plates,  that  they  had 
to  come  and  borrow  from  our  poor  stock." 

There  was  much  about  Josephine  de 
Beauharnais  to  win  the  favor  of-  such  a  man 
as  Barras.  A  Creole  past  the  freshness  of 
youth — Josephine  was  thirty-two  years  old 
in  1795 — she  had  a  grace,  a  sweetness,  a 
charm,  that  made  one  forget  that  she  was 
not  beautiful,  even  when  she  was  beside 
such  brilliant  women  as  Madame  Tallien 
and  Madame  R6camier.  It  was  never  pos- 
sible to  surprise  her  in  an  attitude  that  was 
not  graceful.  She  was  never  ruffled  nor 
irritable.  By  nature  she  was  the  perfection 
of  ease  and  repose. 

Artist  enough  to  dress  in  clinging  stuffs 
made  simply,  which  harmonized  perfectly 
with  her  style,  and  skilful  enough  to  use 
the  arts  of  the  toilet  to  conceal  defects 
which  care  and  age  had  brought,  the  Vis- 
countess de  Beauharnais  was  altogether 
one  of  the  most  fascinating  women  in 
Madame  Tallien's  circle. 

The  goodness  of  Josephine's  heart  un- 
doubtedly won  her  as  many  friends  as 
her  grace.  Everybody  who  came  to  know 
her  at  all  well,  declared  her  gentle,  sympa- 
thetic, and  helpful.  Everybody  except, 
perhaps,  the  Bonaparte  family,  who  never 
cared  for  her,  and  whom  she  never  tried 
to  win.  Lucien,  indeed,  draws  a  picture  of 
her  in  his  "Memoirs  "  which,  if  it  could  be 
regarded  as  unprejudiced,  would  take  much 
of  her  charm  from  her  : 

"  Josephine  was  not  disagreeble,  or  perhaps  I  better 
say,  everybody  declared  thai  she  ivas  very  good;  but  it 
was  especially  when  goodness  cost  her  no  sacrifice. 
She  had  very  little  wit,  and  no  beauty  at 
all  ;  but  there  was  a  certain  Creole  suppleness  about 
her  form.  She  had  lost  all  natural  freshness  of  com- 
plexion, but  that  the  arts  of  the  toilet  remedied  by 
candle-light.  ...  In  the  brilliant  companies  of 
the  Directory,  to  which  Barras  did  me  the  honor  of 
admitting  me,  she  scarcely  attracted  my  attention,  so 
old  did  she  seem  to  me,  and  so  inferior  to  the  other 
beauties  which  ordinarily  formed  the  court  of  the 
voluptuous  Directors,  and  among  whom  the  beautiful 
Tallien  was  the  true  Calypso." 


NAPOLEON    ATTRACTED    FROM    THE    FIRST. 

But  if  Lucien  was  not  attracted  to  Jo- 
sephine, Napoleon  was  from  the  first ;  and 
when,  one  day,  Madame  de  Beauharnais 
said  some  flattering  things  to  him  about 
his  military  talent,  he  was  fairly  intoxicated 
by  her  praise,  followed  her  everywhere,  and 
fell  wildly  in  love  with  her  ;  but  by  her 
station,  her  elegance,  her  influence,  she 


seemed  inaccessible  to  him,  and  then,  toe 
he  was  looking  elsewhere  for  a  wife.  When 
he  first  knew  her,  he  was  thinking  of  De"si- 
ree  Clary  ;  and  he  had  known  Josephine 
some  time  when  he  sought  the  hand  of  the 
widow  Permon. 

Though  he  dared  not  tell  her  his  love, 
all  his  circle  knew  of  it,  and  Barras  at  last 
said  to  him,  "You  should  marry  Madame 
de  Beauharnais.  You  have  a  position  and 
talents  which  will  secure  advancement  ; 
but  you  are  isolated,  without  fortune  and 
without  relations.  You  ought  to  marry  ; 
it  gives  weight,"  and  he  asked  permission 
to  negotiate  the  affair. 

Josephine  was  distressed.  Barras  was 
her  protector.  She  felt  the  wisdom  of 
his  advice,  but  Napoleon  frightened  and 
wearied  her  by  the  violence  of  his  love. 
A  letter  of  hers,  written  at  this  stage  of 
the  affair,  shows  admirably  her  feelings  : 

"  '  Do  you  like  him  ? '  you  ask.  No  ;  I  do  not. 
'  You  dislike  him,  then  ? '  you  say.  Not  at  all ;  but  I  am 
in  a  lukewarm  state  that  troubles  me,  and  which  in 
religion  is  considered  more  difficult  to  manage  than 
unbelief  itself,  and  that  is  why  I  need  your  advice, 
which  will  give  strength  to  my  feeble  nature.  To 
take  any  positive  step  has  always  seemed  most  fatigu- 
ing to  my  Creole  nonchalance.  I  have  always  found 
it  far  easier  to  yield  to  the  wishes  of  others. 

"  I  admire  the  courage  of  the  General,  the  extent 
of  his  information  (for  he  speaks  equally  well  on  all 
subjects),  the  vivacity  of  his  wit,  and  the  quick  in- 
telligence which  enables  him  to  grasp  the  thoughts 
of  others  almost  before  they  are  expressed  ;  but  I  am 
terrified,  I  admit,  at  the  empire  he  seems  to  exercise 
over  all  about  him.  His  keen  gaze  has  an  inexpli- 
cable something  which  impresses  even  our  Directors  ; 
judge,  then,  if  he  is  not  likely  to  intimidate  a  woman. 
In  short,  just  that  which  ought  to  please  me — the 
strength  of  a  passion  of  which  he  speaks  with  an 
energy  that  permits  no  doubt  of  his  sincerity — is 
precisely  that  which  arrests  the  consent  that  often 
hovers  on  my  lips. 

"  Having  passed  my  premiere  jennesse,  can  I  hope 
to  preserve  for  any  length  of  time  this  violent  tender- 
ness, which  in  the  General  amounts  almost  to  de- 
lirium? If  when  \ve  are  married  he  should  cease  to 
love  me,  would  he  not  reproach  me  for  what  I  had 
allowed  him  to  do?  Would  he  not  regret  a  more 
brilliant  marriage  that  he  might  have  made  ?  What, 
then,  could  I  say?  What  could  I  do?  Nothing  but 
weep. 

"  Barras  declares  that  if  I  will  marry  the  General 
he  will  certainly  secure  for  him  the  command  of  the 
Army  of  Italy.  Yesterday  Bonaparte,  in  speaking 
of  this  favor,  which  has  ex'cited  a  murmur  of  discon- 
tent in  his  brother  officers,  even  though  not  yet 
granted,  said  to  me  :  '  Do  th«y  think  that  I  need 
protection  to  rise  ?  They  will  be  glad  enough  some 
day  if  I  grant  them  mine.  My  sword  is  at  my  side, 
and  with  it  I  can  go  far.' 

"What  do  you  say  of  this  certainty  of  success? 
Is  it  not  a  proof  of  self-confidence  that  is  almost 
ridiculous?  A  general  of  brigade  protecting  the 
heads  of  government !  I  feel  that  it  is  ;  and  yet  this 
preposterous  assurance  affects  me  to  such  a  degree 
that  I  can  believe  everything  may  be  possible  to  this 


NAPOLEON'S  LOVE  LETTERS. 


man,  and  with  his  imagination,  who  can  tell  what  he    a  good  long  letter,  and  accept  a  thousand  and  one 


may  be  tempted  to  undertake  ? 

"  But  for  this  marriage,  which  worries  me,  I  should 
by  very  gay  in  spite  of  many  other  things  ;  but  until 
this  is  settled  one  way  or  another,  I  shall  torment 
myself." 


kisses  from  your  best  and  most  loving  friend." 
Arrived  in  Italy  he  wrote  : 


"  I  have  received  all  your  letters,  but  none  has 
made  such  an  impression  on  me  as  the  last.     How 

ru        ,       i.        i         -11     i  „.  *    „        can  you  think,  my  dear  love,  of  writing  to  me  in  such 
In  spite  of  her  doubts  she  yielded  at  last,    a  way?    Don'-t  >ou  bdieve'  my  pos£on  is  already 

and  on  the  pth  of  March,  1796,  they  were  cruel  enough,  without  adding  to  my  regrets  and  tor- 
married.  Shortly  before,  Napoleon  had  menting  my  soul  ?  What  a  style  !  What  feelings  are 
been  appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the  those  you  describe  !  It's  like  fire  ;  it  burns  my  poor 

Armv  of  Ttalv  and  two  davs  later  he  left  heart"  M>'only  Josephine,  away  from  you  there  is  no 
Army  or  Italy,  a  later  ne  leu  happiness .  away  {rom  you>  the  world  is  a  desert  in 

his  Wife  for  his  post.  which  I  stand  alone,  with  no  chance  of  tasting  the 

delicious  joy  of  pouring  out  my  heart.  You  have 
robbed  me  of  more  than  my  soul  ;  you  are  the  sole 

NAPOLEON'S   LOVE   FOR   HIS   WIFE.  thought  of  my  life.     If  I  am  worn  out  by  all  the  tor- 

ments  of  events,  and  fear  the  issue,  if  men  disgust 

,  .  ,  me,  if  I  am  ready  to  curse  life,  I  place  my  hand  on 

From  every  station  on  his  route  he  wrote    my  heart .  your  fmage  is  beating  there     I'toflfc  at  it> 

her  passionate  letters  :  and  love  is  for  me  perfect  happiness  ;  and  everything 

is  smiling,  except  the  time  that  I  see  myself  absent 

"  Every  moment  takes  me  farther  from  you,  and    from  my  love.     By  what  art  have  you  learned  how  to 

captivate  all  my  faculties,  to  concentrate  my  whole 
being  in  yourself  ?  To  live  for  Josephine  !  That's 
the  story  of  my  life.  I  do  everything  to  get  to  you  ; 
I  am  dying  to  join  you.  Fool !  Do  I  not  see  that  I 


every  moment  I  feel  less  able  to  be  away  from  you. 
You  are  ever  in  my  thoughts  ;  my  fancy  tires  itself 
in  trying  to  imagine  what  you  are  doing.  If  I  picture 
you  sad,  my  heart  is  wrung  and  my  grief  is  increased. 


If  you  are  happy  and  merry  with  your  friends,  I  blame  am  only  going  farther  from  you  ?     How  many  lands 

you  for  so  soon  forgetting  the  painful  three  days'  sep-  and  countries  separate  us  !     How  long  before  you 

aration  ;  in  that  case  you  are  frivolous  and  destitute  will  read  these  words  which  express  but  feebly  the 

of  deep  feeling.     As  you  see,  I  am  hard  to  please  ;  emotions  of  the  heart  over  which  you  reign  !    .     .    ." 
but,  my  dear,  it  is  very  different  when  I  fear  your 

health  is  bad,  or  that  you  have  any  reasons  for  being  "  Don't  be  anxious  ;  love  me  like  your  eyes — but 

sad  ;  then  I  regret  the  speed  with  which  I  am  being  that's  not  enough — like  yourself  ;  more  than  yourself, 


separated  from  my 
love.  I  am  sure 
that  you  have  no 
longer  any  kind 
feeling  toward  me, 
and  I  can  only  be 
satisfied  when  I 
have  heard  that 
all  goes  well  with 
you.  When  any 
one  asks  me  if  I 
have  slept  well,  I 
feel  that  I  cannot 
answer  until  a  mes- 
senger brings  me 
word  that  you  have 
rested  well.  The 
illnesses  and  anger 
of  men  affect  me 
only  so  far  as  I 
think  they  may  af- 
fect you.  May  my 
good  genius,  who 
has  always  pro- 
tected me  amid 
great  perils,  guard 
and  protect  you ! 
I  will  gladly  dis- 
pense with  him. 
A«h  !  don't  be 
happy,  but  be  a 
little  melancholy, 
and,  above  all,  keep 
sorrow  from  your 
mind  and  illness 
from  your  body. 
You  remember 
what  Ossian  says 
about  that.  Write 
to  me,  my  pet,  and 


GENERAL    BONAPARTE. 

Medallion  in  terra-cotta.  By  Boizot.  Collection  of  Monsieur  Paul 
le  Roux.  All  historians  who  have  seriously  studied  the  complex  and 
mysterious  iconography  of  Napoleon,  agree  in  stating  that  the  medallion 
of  Boizot  is  one  of  the  most  faithful  portraits  of  Bonaparte  at  the  time 
of  the  Italian  campaign.  Boizot  did  not  content  himself  with  the  few 
moments  of  pose  accorded  by  the  general,  but,  before  definitely  execut- 
ing his  medallion,  followed,  observed,  spied  on  him,  and  sketched  at  all 
angles  the  countenance  of  his  glorious  model.  I  have  myself  handled 
one  or  two  of  those  precious  little  pencil  sketches.— A.  D. 


than  your  thoughts, 
your  mind,  your 
life,  your  all.  But 
forgive  me,  I'm 
raving.  Nature  is 
weak  when  one 
loves  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  received 
a  letter  which  you 
interrupt  to  go, 
you  say,  into  the 
country  ;  and  after- 
wards you  pretend 
to  be  jealous  of  me, 
who  am  so  worn 
out  by  work  and 
fatigue.  Oh,  my 
dear!  ...  Of 
course,  I  am  in  the 
wrong.  In  the 
early  spring  the 
country  is  beauti- 
ful ;  and  then  the 
nineteen  -  year  old 
lover  was  there, 
without  a  doubt. 
The  idea  of  wast- 
ing another  mo- 
ment in  writing  to 
the  man  three  hun- 
dred leagues  away, 
who  lives,  moves, 
exists  only  in  mem- 
ory of  you  ;  who 
reads  your  letters 
as  one  devours 
one's  favorite 
dishes  after  hunt- 
ing for  six  hours! " 


26 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE    FIRST    ITALIAN   CAMPAIGN.— NAPOLEON'S   WAY   OF   MAKING   WAR, 


BUT  Napoleon  had  much  to  occupy  him 
besides  his  separation  from  Josephine. 
Extraordinary  difficulties  surrounded  his 
new  post.  Neither  the  generals  nor  the  men 
knew  anything  of  their  future  commander. 
u  Who  is  this  General  Bonaparte  ?  Where 
has  he  served?  .No  one  knows  anything 
about  him,"  wrote  Junot's  father  when  the 
latter  at  Toulon  decided  to  follow  his  artil- 
lery commander. 

In  the  Army  of  Italy  they  were  asking  the 
same  questions,  and  the  Directory  could 
only  answer  as  Junot  had  done  :  "  As  far 
as  I  can  judge,  he  is  one  of  those  men  of 
whom  nature  is  avaricious,  and  that  she 
permits  upon  the  earth  only  from  age  to 
age." 

He  was  to  replace  a  commander-in-chief 
who  had  sneered  at  his  plans  for  an  Italian 
campaign  and  might  be  expected  to  put 
obstacles  in  his  way.  He  was  to  take  an 
army  which  was  in  the  last  stages  of  pov- 
erty and  discouragement.  Their  garments 
were  in  rags.  Even  the  officers  were  so 
nearly  shoeless  that  when  they  reached 
Milan  and  one  of  them  was  invited  to  dine 
at  the  palace  of  a  marquise,  he  was  obliged 
to  go  in  shoes  without  soles  and  tied  on  by 
cords  carefully  blacked.  They  had  provi- 
sions for  only  a  month,  and  half  rations  at 
that.  The  Piedmontese  called  them  the 
"  rag  heroes." 

Worse  than  their  poverty  was  their  in- 
activity. "  For  three  years  they  had  fired 
off  their  guns  in  Italy  only  because  war  was 
going  on,  and  not  for  any  especial  object — 
only  to  satisfy  their  consciences."  Dis- 
content was  such  that  counter-revolution 
gained  ground  daily.  One  company  had 
even  taken  the  name  of  "  Dauphin,"  and 
royalist  songs  were  heard  in  camp. 

Napoleon  saw  at  a  glance  all  these  diffi- 
culties, and  set  himself  to  conquer  them. 
With  his  generals  he  was  reserved  and 
severe.  "  It  was  necessary,"  he  explained 
afterward,  "in  order  to  command  men  so 
much  older  than  myself."  His  look  and 
bearing  quelled  insubordination,  restrained 
familiarity,  even  inspired  fear.  "From  his 
arrival,"  says  Marmont,  "  his  attitude  was 
that  of  a  man  born  for  power.  It  was  plain 
to  the  least  clairvoyant  eyes  that  he  knew 
how  to  compel  obedience,  and  scarcely  was 
he  in  authority  before  the  line  of  a  cele- 


brated   poet  might  have  been  applied  to 
him  : 

"  '  Des  egaux ? des  longtemps  Mahomet  n'en  a  plus.'" 

General  Decres,  who  had  known  Napoleon 
well  at  Paris,  hearing  that  he  was  going 
to  pass  through  Toulon,  where  he  was  sta- 
tioned, offered  to  present  his  comrades. 
"I  run,"  he  says,  "full  of  eagerness  and 
joy  ;  the  salon  opens  ;  I  am  about  to  spring 
forward,  when  the  attitude,  the  look,  the 
sound  of  his  voice  are  sufficient  to  stop  me. 
There  was  nothing  rude  about  him,  but  it 
was  enough.  From  that  time  I  was  never 
tempted  to  pass  the  line  which  had  been 
drawn  for  me." 

Lavalette  says  of  his  first  interview  with 
him  :  "  He  looked  weak,  but  his  regard  was 
so  firm  and  so  fixed  that  I  felt  myself  turn- 
ing pale  when  he  spoke  to  me."  Augereau 
goes  to  see  him  at  Albenga,  full  of  con- 
tempt for  this  favorite  of  Barras  who  has 
never  known  an  action,  determined  on 
insubordination.  Bonaparte  comes  out, 
little,  thin,  round-shouldered,  and  gives 
Augereau,  a  giant  among  the  generals,  his 
orders.  The  big  man  backs  out  in  a  kind 
of  terror.  "  He  frightened  me,"  he  tells 
Masse"na.  "His  first  glance  crushed  me." 

He  quelled  insubordination  in  the  ranks 
by  quick,  severe  punishment,  but  it  was  not 
long  that  he  had  insubordination.  The 
army  asked  nothing  but  to  act,  and  imme- 
diately they  saw  that  they  were  to  move. 
He  had  reached  his  post  on  March  226  ; 
nineteen  days  later  operations  began. 

The  theatre  of  action  was  along  that  por- 
tion of  the  maritime  Alps  which  runs  par- 
allel with  the  sea.  Bonaparte  held  the 
coast  and  the  mountains;  and  north,  in  the 
foot-hills,  stretched  from  the  Tende  to 
Genoa,  were  the  Austrians  and  their  Sar- 
dinian allies.  If  the  French  were  fully 
ten  thousand  inferior  in  number,  their  posi- 
tion was  the  stronger,  for  the  enemy  was 
scattered  in  a  hilly  country  where  it  was 
difficult  to  unite  their  divisions. 

As  Bonaparte  faced  his  enemy,  it  was 
with  a  youthful  zest  and  anticipation  which 
explains  much  of  what  follows.  "  The  two 
armies  are  in  motion,"  he  wrote  Josephine, 
"  each  trying  to  outwit  the  other.  The 
more  skilful  will  succeed.  '  I  am  much 


OPENING   OF  ITALIAN  CAMPAIGN. 


27 


pleased  with  Beaulieu.  He  ma- 
noeuvres very  well,  and  issuperior 
to  his  predecessor.  'I  shall  beat 
him,  I  hope,  out  of  his  boots." 


SIX    VICTORIES  IN    FIFTEEN   DAYS. 

The  first  step  in  the  campaign 
was  a  skilful  stratagem.  He 
spread  rumors  which  made  Beau- 
lieu  suspect  that  he  intended 
marching  on  Genoa,  and  he 
threw  out  his  lines  in  that  direc- 
tion. The  Austrian  took  the 
feint  as  a  genuine  movement, 
and  marched  his  left  to  the  sea 
to  cut  off  the  French  advance. 
But  Bonaparte  was  not  march- 
ing to  Genoa,  and,  rapidly  col- 
lecting his  forces,  he  fell  on  the 
Austrian  army  at  Montenotte  on 
April  1 2th,  and  defeated  it.  The 
right  and  left  of  the  allies  were 
divided,  and  the  centre  broken. 

By  a  series  of  clever  feints, 
Bonaparte  prevented  the  various 
divisions  of  the  enemy  from  re- 
enforcing  each  other,  and  forced 
them  separately  to  battle.  At 
Millesimo,  on  the  i4th,  he  de- 
feated one  section  ;  on  the  same 
day,  at  Dego,  another  ;  the  next 
morning,  near  Dego,  another. 
The  Austrians  were  now  driven 
back,  but  their  Sardinian  allies 
were  still  at  Ceva.  To  them 
Bonaparte  now  turned,  and, 
driving  them  from  their  camp, 
defeated  them  at  Mondovi  on 
the  22d. 

It  was  phenomenal  in  Italy. 
In  ten  days  the  "  rag  heroes,"  at 
whom  they  had  been  mocking 
for  three  years,  had  defeated 
two  well-fed  armies  ten  thousand 
stronger  than  themselves,  and 
might  at  any  moment  march  on 
Turin.  The  Sardinians  sued  for 
peace. 

The  victory  was  as  bewilder- 
ing to  the  French  as  it  was  ter- 
rifying to  the  enemy,   and  Napoleon  used 
it  to  stir  his  army  to  new  conquests. 

"  Soldiers  !  "  he  said,  "  in  fifteen  days  you  have 
gained  six  victories,  taken  twenty-one  stands  of  colors, 
fifty-five  pieces  of  cannon,  and  several  fortresses,  and 
conquered  the  richest  part  of  Piedmont.  You  have 
made  fifteen  hundred  prisoners,  and  killed  or  wounded 
ten  thousand  men. 

"  Hitherto,  however,  you  have  been  fighting  for 


BONAPARTE,  GENERAL   OF  THE   ARMY    IN    ITALY. 

Profile  in  plaster.  By  David  d' Angers.  Collection  of  Monsieur  Paul 
le  Roux.  This  energetic  profile  presents  considerable  artistic  and  iconc- 
graphic  interest.  It  is  the  first  rough  cast  of  the  face  of  Bonaparte  on 
the  pediment  of  the  Pantheon  at  Paris.  Some  months  ago,  Baron  Larrey 
told  me  an  interesting  anecdote  regarding  this  statue.  The  Baron,  son 
of  the  chief  surgeon  to  Napoleon  I.,  and  himself  ex-military  surgeon  to 
Napoleon  III.,  happening  to  be  with  the  emperor  at  the  camp  of  Chalons 
conceived  the  noble  idea  of  trying  to  save  the  pediment  of  the  Pantheon, 
then  about  to  be  destroyed  to  satisfy  the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  who  re- 
garded with  lively  displeasure  the  image  of  Voltaire  figuring  on  the 
fa9ade  of  a  building  newly  consecrated  to  religion.  At  the  emperor's 
table,  Baron  H.  Larrey  adroitly  turned  the  conversation  to  David,  and 
informed  the  sovereign,  to  his  surprise,  that  the  proudest  effigy  of  Napo- 
leon was  to  be  seen  on  this  pediment.  Bonaparte,  in  fact,  is  represented 
as  seizing  for  himself  the  crowns  distributed  by  the  Fatherland,  while  the 
other  personages  receive  them.  On  hearing  this,  Napoleon  III.  was 
silent ;  but  the  next  day  the  order  was  given  to  respect  the  pediment. 
The  plaster  cast  I  reproduce  here  is  signed  /.  David,  and  dates  from 
1836.  The  Pantheon  pediment  was  inaugurated  in  1837. — A.  D. 


barren  rocks,  made  memorable  by  your  valor,  but  use- 
less to  the  nation.  Your  exploits  now  equal  those  of 
the  conquering  armies  of  Holland  and  the  Rhine. 
You  were  utterly  destitute,  and  have  supplied  all  your 
wants.  You  have  gained  battles  without  cannons, 
passed  rivers  without  bridges,  performed  forced 
marches  without  shoes,  bivouacked  without  brandy, 
and  often  without  bread.  None  but  republican  pha- 
lanxes— soldiers  of  liberty — could  have  borne  what 
you  have  endured.  For  this  you  have  the  thanks  of 
your  country. 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


"  The  two  armies  which  lately  attacked  you  in  full 
confidence,  now  fly  before  you  in  consternation. 

But,  soldiers,  it  must  not  be  concealed  that  you 
have  done  nothing,  since  there  remains  aught  to  do. 
Neither  Turin  nor  Milan  is  ours.  .  .  .  The 
greatest  difficulties  are  no  doubt  surmounted  ;  but 
you  have  still  battles  to  fight,  towns  to  take,  rivers  to 
cross. 


Not  less  clever  in  diplomacy  than  in 
battle, Bonaparte, on  his  own  responsibility, 
concluded  an  armistice  with  the  Sardinians, 
which  left  him  only  the  Austrians  to  fight, 
and  at  once  set  out  to  follow  Beaulieu,  who 
had  fled  beyond  the  Po. 

As  adroitly  as  he  had  made  Beaulieu 
believe,  three  weeks  before,  that  he  was 
going  to  march  on  Genoa,  he  now  deceives 
him  as  to  the  point  where  he  proposes  to 
cross  the  Po,  leading  him  to  believe  it  is  at 
Valenza.  When  certain  that  Beaulieu  had 
his  eye  on  that  point,  Bonaparte  marched 
rapidly  down  the  river,  and  crossed  at 
Placentia.  If  an  unforeseen  delay  had  not 
occurred  in  the  passage,  he  would  have 
been  on  the  Austrian  rear.  As  it  was, 
Beaulieu  took  alarm,  and  withdrew  the 
body  of  his  army,  after  a  slight  resistance 
to  the  French  advance,  across  the  Adda, 
leaving  but  twelve  thousand  men  at  Lodi. 

Bonaparte  was  jubilant.  "We  have 
crossed  the  Po,"  he  wrote  the  Directory. 
"  The  second  campaign  has  commenced. 
Beaulieu  is  disconcerted;  he  miscalculates, 
and  continually  falls  into  the  snares  I  set 
for  him.  Perhaps  he  wishes  to  give  battle, 
for  he  has  both  audacity  and  energy,  but 
not  genius.  .  .  .  Another  victory,  and 
we  shall  be  masters  of  Italy." 

Determined  to  leave  no  enemies  behind 
him,  Bonaparte  now  marched  against  the 
twelve  thousand  men  at  Lodi.  The  town, 
lying  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Adda,  was 
guarded  by  a  small  force  of  Austrians  ;  but 
the  mass  of  the  enemy  was  on  the  left  bank, 
at  the  end  of  a  bridge  some  three  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  in  length,  and  commanded 
by  a  score  or  more  of  cannon. 

Rushing  into  the  town  on  May  roth  the 
French  drove  out  the  guarding  force,  and 
arrived  at  the  bridge  before  the  Austrians 
had  time  to  destroy  it.  The  French  gren- 
adiers pressed  forward  in  a  solid  mass,  but, 
when  half  way  over,  the  cannon  at  the 
opposite  end  poured  such  a  storm  of  shot  at 
them  that  the  columnwavered  and  fell  back. 
Several  generals  in  the  ranks,  Bonaparte  at 
their  head,  rushed  to  the  front  of  the  force. 
The  presence  of  the  officers  was  enough  to 
inspire  the  soldiers,  and  they  swept  across 
the  bridge  with  such  impetuosity  that  the 
Austrian  line  on  the  opposite  bank  al- 


lowed its  batteries  to  be  taken,  and  in  a 
few  moments  was  in  retreat.  "  Of  all 
the  actions  in  which  the  soldiers  under 
my  command  have  been  engaged,"  wrote 
Bonaparte  to  the  Directory,  "  none  has 
equalled  the  tremendous  passage  of  ihe 
bridge  of  Lodi.  If  we  have  lost  but  few 
soldiers,  it  was  merely  owing  to  the  prompt- 
itude of  our  attacks  and  the  effect  pro- 
duced on  the  enemy  by  the  formidable  fire 
from  our  invincible  army.  Were  I  to  name 
all  the  officers  who  distinguished  them- 
selves in  this  affair,  I  should  be  obliged  to 
enumerate  every  carabinier  of  the  advanced 
guard,  and  almost  every  officer  belonging 
to  the  staff." 

The  Austrians  now  withdrew  beyond  the 
Mincio,  and  on  the  i5th  of  May  the  French 
entered  Milan.  The  populace  greeted  their 
conquerors  as  liberators,  and  for  several 
days  the  army  rejoiced  in  comforts  which 
it  had  not  known  for  years.  While  it  was 
being  feted,  Bonaparte  was  instituting  the 
Lombard  Republic,  and  trying  to  conciliate 
or  outwit,  as  the  case  demanded,  the  nobles 
and  clergy  outraged  at  the  introduction  of 
French  ideas.  It  was  not  until  the  end  of 
May  that  Lombardy  was  in  a  situation  to 
permit  Bonaparte  to  follow  the  Austrians. 

After  Lodi,  Beaulieu  had  led  his  army 
to  the  Mincio.  As  usual,  his  force  was 
divided,  the  right  being  near  Lake  Garda, 
the  left  at  Mantua,  the  centre  about  half- 
way between,  at  Valeggio.  It  was  at  this 
latter  point  that  Bonaparte  decided  to 
attack  them.  Feigning  to  march  on  their 
right,  he  waited  until  his  opponent  had 
fallen  into  his  trap,  and  then  sprang  on  the 
weakened  centre,  broke  it  to  pieces,  and 
drove  all  but  twelve  thousand  men,  escaped 
to  Mantua,  into  the  Tyrol.  In  fifty  days 
he  had  swept  all  but  a  remnant  of  the 
Austrians  away  from  Italy.  Two  weeks 
later,  having  taken  a  strong  position  on 
the  Adige,  he  began  'the  siege  of  Mantua. 

The  French  were  victorious,  but  their 
position  was  precarious.  Austria  was  pre- 
paring a  new  army.  Between  the  victors 
and  France  lay  a  number  of  feeble  Italian 
governments  whose  friendship  could  not 
be  depended  upon.  The  populace  of  these 
states  favored  the  French,  for  they  brought 
promises  of  liberal  government,  of  equal- 
ity and  fraternity.  The  nobles  and  clergy 
hated  them  for  the  same  reason.  It  was 
evident  that  a  victory  of  the  Austrians 
would  set  all  these  petty  princes  on  Bona- 
parte's heels.  The  Papal  States  to  the 
south  were  plotting.  Naples  was  an  ally 
of  Austria.  Venice  was  neutral,  but  she 
could  not  be  trusted.  The  English  were- 


"NAPOLEONE  BUONAPARTE,  GEXERAL-IN-CHIEF 


"  From  an  original  drawing  in  the  possession  of  the  Rev.  J.  Thomas,"  Epsom.    Engraved  by  John  Whessel. 
Published  November  4,  1797,  by  John  Harris,  Sweetings  Alley,  London. 


off  the  coast,  and  might,  at  any  moment, 
make  an  alliance  which  would  place  a 
formidable  enemy  on  the  French  rear. 

THE    AUSTRIANS    BRING   A   NEW    ARMY    INTO 
THE    FIELD. 

While  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  new 
Austrian  army,   Bonaparte  set  himself  to 


lessening  these  dangers.  He  concluded  a 
peace  with  Naples.  Two  divisions  of  the 
army  were  sent  south,  one  to  Bologna,  the 
other  into  Tuscany.  The  people  received 
the  French  with  such  joy  that  Rome  was 
glad  to  purchase  peace.  Leghorn  was 
taken.  The  malcontents  in  Milan  were 
silenced.  Bv  the  time  afresh  Austrian  armv 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


BONAPARTE. 


"Drawn  from  the  life  in  Italy. 
Tomkins,  No.  49  New  Bond  Street." 
Napoleon  published  in  London. 


Published   in   London,  April   20,  1797,  by 
This  is  probably  the  first  engraving  of 


of  sixty  thousand  men,  under  a  new  general, 
Wurmser,  was  ready  to  fight,  Italy  had  been 
effectually  quieted. 

The  Austrians  advanced  against  the 
French  in  three  columns,  one  to  the  west  of 
Lake  Garda,  under  Quasdanovich,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  Adige,  east  of  the  lake, 
under  Wurmser.  Their  plan  was  to  attack 
the  French  outposts  on  each  side  of  the 
lake  simultaneously,  and  then  envelop  the 
army.  The  first  movements  were  success- 
ful. The  French  on  each  side  of  the  lake 
were  driven  back.  Bonaparte's  army  was 
inferior  to  the  one  coming  against  him,  but 


ness,  he  fell  on  the  enemy 
piecemeal.  Wherever  he 
could  engage  a  division  he 
did  so,  providing  his  own 
force  was  superior  to  that 
of  the  Austrians  at  the 
moment  of  the  battle. 
Thus,  on  July  3ist,  at 
Lonato,  he  defeated  Quas- 
danovich, though  not  so 
decisively  but  that  the 
Austrian  collected  his  divi- 
sion and  returned  towards 
the  same  place,  hoping  to 
unite  there  with  Wurmser, 
who  had  foolishly  divided 
his  divisions,  sending  one 
to  Lonato  and  another  to 
Castiglione,  while  he  him- 
self went  off  to  Mantua  to 
relieve  the  garrison  there. 
Bonaparte  engaged  the 
forces  at  Lonato  and  at 
Castiglione  on  the  same 
day  (August  3d),  defeating 
them  both,  and  then  turned 
his  whole  army  against  the 
body  of  Austrians  under 
Wurmser,  who,  by  this 
time,  had  returned  from 
his  relief  expedition  at 
Mantua.  On  August  5th, 
at  Castiglione,  Wurmser 
was  beaten,  driven  over 
the  Mincio  and  into  the 
Tyrol.  In  six  days  the 
campaign  has  been  fin- 
ished. "The  Austrian  army 
has  vanished  like  a  dream," 
Bonaparte  wrote  home. 
It  had  vanished,  true,  but  only  for  a  day. 
Reinforcements  were  soon  sent,  and  a  new 
campaign  started  early  in  September. 
Leaving  Davidovich  in  the  Tyrol  with 
twenty  thousand  men,  Wurmser  started 
down  the  Brenta  with  twenty-six  thousand 
men,  intending  to  fall  on  Bonaparte's  rear, 
cut  him  to  pieces,  and  relieve  Mantua. 
But  Bonaparte  had  a  plan  of  his  own  this 
time,  and,  without  waiting  to  find  out 
where  Wurmser  was  going,  he  started  up 
the  Adige,  intending  to  attack  the  Austrians 
in  the  Tyrol,  and  join  the  army  of  the  Rhine, 
then  on  the  upper  Danube.  As  it  hap- 


the  skill  with  which  he  handled  his  forces    pened,  Wurmser's  plan  was  a  happy  one  for 


and  used  the  blunders  of  the  enemy  more 
than  compensated  for  lack  of  numbers. 
Raising  the  siege  of  Mantua,  he  concen- 
trated his  forces  at  the  south  of  the  lake  in 
such  a  way  as  to  prevent  the  reunion  of  the 


Bonaparte.  The  French  found  less  than 
half  the  Austrian  army  opposing  them,  and, 
after  they  had  beaten  it,  discovered  that 
they  were  actually  on  the  rear  of  the  other 
half.  Of  course  Bonaparte  did  not  lose  the 


Austrians.     Then,  with  unparalleled  swift-    opportunity.     He  sped  down    the    Brenta 


ALVINZI  ENTERS  ITALY.  3r 

behind  Wurmser,  overtook  him  at  Bassano  commander-in-chief,  Alvinzi,  put  at  its 
on  the  8th  of  September,  and  of  course  head.  ~  The  Austrians  advanced  in  two 
defeated  him.  The  Austrians  fled  in  terri-  divisions,  one  down  the  Adige,  the  other  by 
ble  demoralization.  Wurmser  succeeded  the  Brenta.  The  French  divisions  which 
in  reaching  Mantua,  where  he  united  with  met  the  enemy  at  Trent  and  Bassano  were 
the  garrison.  The  sturdy  old  Austrian  driven  back.  In  spite  of  his  best  efforts, 
had  the  courage,  in  spite  of  his  losses,  to  Bonaparte,  was  obliged  to  retire  with  his 
come  out  of  Mantua  and  meet  Bonaparte  main  army  to  Verona.  Things  looked 
on  the  i5th,  but  he  was  defeated 
again,  and  obliged  to  take  refuge 
in  the  fortress.  If  the  Austri- 
ans had  been  beaten  repeatedly, 
they  had  no  idea  of  yielding,  and, 
in  fact,  there  was  apparently  every 
reason  to  continue  the  struggle. 
The  French  army  was  in  a  most 
desperate  condition.  Its  number 
was  reduced  to  barely  forty  thou- 
sand, and  this  number  was  poorly 
supplied,  and  many  of  them  were 
ill.  Though  living  in  the  richest 
of  countries,  the  rapacity  and  dis- 
honesty of  the  army  contractors 
were  such  that  food  reached  the 
men  half  spoiled  and  in  insufficient 
quantities,  while  the  clothing  sup- 
plied was  pure  shoddy.  Many- 
officers  were  laid  up  by  wounds  or 
fatigue ",  those  who  remained  at 
their  posts  were  discouraged,  and 
threatening  to  resign.  The  Direc- 
tory had  tampered  with  Bona- 
parte'sarmistices  and  treaties  until 
Naples  and  Rome  were  ready  to 
spring  upon  the  French;  and 
Venice,  if  not  openly  hostile,  was 
irritating  the  army  in  many  ways. 
Bonaparte,  in  face  of  these  diffi- 
culties, was  in  genuine  despair  : 


"  Everything  is  being  spoiled  in  Italy," 
he  wrote  the  Directory.  "  Thft  prestige 
of  our  forces  is  being  lost.  A  policy  which 
will  give  you  friends  among  the  princes  as 
well  as  among  the  people,  is  necessary. 
Diminish  your  enemies.  The  influence  of 
Rome  is  beyond  calculation.  It  was  a 
great  mistake  to  quarrel  with  that  power. 
Had  I  been  consulted  I  should  have  de- 
layed negotiations  as  I  did  with  Genoa  and 
Venice.  Whenever  your  general  in  Italy 
is  not  the  centre  of  everything,  you  will 
run  great  risks.  This  language  is  not  that 
of  ambition  ;  I  have  only  too  many  honors, 
and  my  health  is  so  impaired  that  I  think 
I  shall  be  forced  to  demand  a  successor. 
I  can  no  longer  get  on  horseback.  My 
courage  alone  remains,  and  that  is  not 
sufficient  in  a  position  like  this." 


It  was  in  such  a  situation  that 
Bonaparte  saw  the  Austrian  force 
outside  of  Mantua,  increased  to 
fifty  thousand  men,  and  a  new 


JUNOT    (1771-1813). 

Junot,  afterwards  Due  d'Abrantes,  was  born  at  Bussy-le-Grand. 
He  studied  law,  and  in  1791  joined  a  company  of  volunteers.  His  com- 
rades gave  him  the  name  of  The  Tempest.  At  Toulon,  where  he  was 
sergeant,  Napoleon  took  him  for  a  secretary.  Junot  distinguished 
himself  in  the  Italian  campaign,  particularly  at  Lonato,  where  he  was 
severely  wounded  in  the  head.  He  went  to  Egypt,  and  there  became 
General-in-Chief.  In  the  battle  of  Nazareth  he  showed  the  most  bril- 
liant courage,  breaking  a  column  of  ten  thousand  Turks  with  a  body 
of  three  hundred  horse.  Junot  was  severely  wounded  in  Egypt,  in  a 
duel  that  he  fought  on  account  of  his  General-in-Chief,  to  whom 
he  was  devoted.  After  the  battle  of  Marengo  he  was  named  Com- 
mander of  Paris,  General  of  Division,  and  then  Colonel-General  (1804). 
He  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  the  court  of  Lisbon  from  1804-1805,  was 
present  at  Austerlitz,  was  Governor  of  Paris  in  1806,  and  in  1807  was 
given  the  command  of  the  Army  of  Portugal.  He  conquered  this 
kingdom  in  less  than  two  months,  a  success  which  earned  him  the  title 
of  the  Due  d'Abrantes,  but  was  subsequently  beaten  by  Wellington, 
and  was  obliged  to  evacuate  the  country  in  1808.  He  showed  himself 
incapable  in  the  Russian  campaign,  and  was  appointed  to  a  position  in 
the  government  of  the  Illyrian  provinces.  His  grief  at  this  deranged 
him,  and  he  was  sent  home  to  be  cared  for.  In  his  insanity  he  threw 
himself  from  the  window,  suffering  injuries  from  which  he  died  some 
days  afterward,  July  29,  1813.  Junot  married  Mademoiselle  Permon, 
daughter  of  the  Madame  Pennon  who  was  so  kind  to  Napoleon  in  his 
youth  at  Paris. 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


"In    a 

effort." 


THE    BATTLE    OF    ARCOLA. 


serious.  Alvinzi  was  pressing  close  to  rowfully  among  themselves  that  Itaiy  was 
Verona,  and  the  army  on  the  Adige  was  lost.  When  far  enough  from  Verona  to 
slowly  driving  back  the  French  division  escape  the  attention  of  the  enemy,  Bona- 
sent  to  hold  it  in  check.  If  Davidovich  parte  wheeled  to  the  southeast.  On  the 
and  Alvinzi  united,  Bonaparte  was  lost.  morning  of  the  i5th  he  crossed  the  Adige, 
"  Perhaps  we  are  on  the  point  of  losing  intending,  if  possible,  to  reach  the  defile  by 
Italy,"  wrote  Bonaparte  to  the  Directory,  which  alone  Alvinzi  could  escape  from  his 
few  days  we  shall  make  a  last  position.  The  country  into  which  his  army 

marched  was  a  morass  crossed  by  two  cause- 
ways. The  points  which  it  was  necessary  to 
take  to  command  the  defile  were  the  town  of 
On  November  i4th  this  last  effort  was    Arcola  and  a  bridge  over  the  rapid  stream 
made.      Alvinzi  was   close   upon  Verona,    on   which  the   town    lay.     The  Austrians 

discovered  the  plan,  and 
hastened  out  to  dispute 
Arcola  and  the  bridge. 
All  day  long  the  two 
armies  fought  desper- 
ately, Bonaparte  and  his 
generals  putting  them- 
selves at  the  head  of 
their  columns  and  doing 
the  work  of  common 
soldiers.  But  at  night 
Arcola  was  not  taken, 
and  the  French  retired 
to  the  right  bank  of  the 
Adige,  only  to  return  on 
the  1 6th  to  reengage 
Alvinzi,  who,  fearful  lest 
his  retreat  be  cut  off,  had 
withdrawn  his  army  from 
near  Verona,  and  had 
taken  a  position  at 
Arcola.  For  two  days 
the  French  struggled 
with  the  Austrians, 
wrenching  the  victory 
from  them  before  the 
close  of  the  i7th,  and 
sending  them  flying 
towards  Bassano.  Bona- 
parte and  his  army  re- 
turned to  Verona,  but 
this  time  it  was  by  the 
gate  which  the  Austrians, 


(AUGEREAIT,  1757-1816.) 

Engraved  by  Lefevre,  after  a  design  by  Le  Dru.  Began  his  military  career  as 
a  carbineer  in  the  Neapolitan  army.  In  1792  joined  the  republican  army.  From 
the  army  of  the  Pyrenees  he  passed  to  that  of  Italy,  where  his  intrepidity  and  mili- 
tary talents  soon  won  him  a  first  place.  He  distinguished  himself  at  Lodi,  Casti- 
glione,  and  Arcola.  After  the  death  of  Hoche  he  was  sent  to  take  his  place  in  the 
army  of  the  Rhine-and-Moselle.  Augereau  was  a  member  of  the  Council  of  Five 
Hundred,  and  after  the  i8th  Brumaire,  received  the  command  of  the  army  of  Hol- 


land. When  Napoleon  became  emperor,  Augereau  was  made  marshal,  was  given 
the  eagle  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  the  title  of  Duke  of  Castiglione.  On  the 
Restoration,  Augereau  joined  Louis  XVIII.:  but  when  Napoleon  returned  from 
Elba  he  tried  to  regain  his  good  will.  The  Bourbons  refused  him  after  the 
Hundred  Days.  He  died  in  1816. 


three  days  before,  were 
pointing  out  as  the  place 
where  they  should  enter. 
It  was  a  month  and  a 
half  before  the  Austrians 
holding  a  position  shut  in  by  rivers  and  could  collect  a  fifth  army  to  send  against 
mountains  on  every  side,  and  from  which  the  French.  Bonaparte,  tormented  on 
there  was  but  one  exit,  a  narrow  pass  at  every  side  by  threatened  uprisings  in  Italy  ; 
his  rear.  The  French  were  in  Verona.  opposed  by  the  Directory,  who  wanted  to 

On  the  night  of  the  i4.th  of  November  make  peace ;  and  distressed  by  the  condi- 
Bonaparte  went  quietly  into  camp.  Early  tion  of  his  army,  worked  incessantly  to 
in  the  evening  he  gave  orders  to  leave  strengthen  his  relations,  quiet  his  enemies, 
Verona,  and  took  the  road  westward.  It  and  restore  his  army.  When  the  Austrians, 
looked  like  a  retreat.  The  French  army  some  forty-five  thousand  strong,  advanced 
believed  it  to  be  so,  and  began  to  say  sor-  in  January,  1797,  against  him,  he  had  a 


"  BONAPARTE   A   LA    BATAILLE    o'ARCOLE,    LE   27    BRUMAIRE,    AN    V.' 


la.  Vallette,  vol.  i.  p.  193. 


34 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


force  of  about  thirty-five  thousand  men 
ready  to  meet  them.  Some  ten  thousand 
of  his  army  were  watching  Wurmser  and 
the  twenty  thousand  Austrians  shut  up  at 
Mantua. 

Alvinzi  had  planned  his  attack  skilfully. 
Advancing  with  twenty-eight  thousand 
men  by  the  Adige,  he  sent  seventeen  thou- 
sand under  Provera  to  approach  Verona 
from  the  east.  The  two  divisions  were  to 
approach  secretly,  and  to  strike  simulta- 
neously. 

At  first  Bonaparte  was  uncertain  of  the 
position  of  the  main  body  of  the  enemy. 
Sending  out  feelers  in  every  direction,  he 
became  convinced  that  it  must  be  that  it 
approached  Rivoli.  Leaving  a  force  at 
Verona  to  hold  back  Provera,  he  concen- 
trated his  army  in  a  single  night  on  the 
plateau  of  Rivoli,  and  on  the  morning  of 
January  i4th  advanced  to  the  attack.  The 
struggle  at  Rivoli  lasted  two  days.  Noth- 
ing but  Bonaparte's  masterly  tactics  won 
it,  for  the  odds  were  greatly  against  him. 
His  victory,  however,  was  complete.  Of  the 
twenty-eight  thousand  Austrians  brought 
to  the  field,  less  than  half  escaped. 

While  this  battle  was  waging,  Bonaparte 
was  also  directing  the  fight  with  Provera, 
who  was  intent  upon  reaching  Mantua 
and  attacking  the  French  besiegers  on  the 
rear,  while  Wurmser  left  the  city  and  en- 
gaged them  in  front.  The  attack  had  be- 
gun, but  Bonaparte  had  foreseen  the  move, 
and  sent  a  division  to  the  relief  of  his  men. 
Thisbattle, known  as  La  Favorita, destroyed 
Provera's  division  of  the  Austrian  army, 
and  so  discouraged  Wurmser,  whose  army 
was  terribly  reduced  by  sickness  and  star- 
vation, that  he  surrendered  on  February  2d. 

The  Austrians  were  driven  utterly  from 
Italy,  but  Bonaparte  had  no  time  to  rest. 
The  Papal  States  and  the  various  aristo- 
cratic parties  of  southern  Italy  were  threat- 
ening to  rise  against  the  French.  The  spirit 
of  independence  and  revolt  which  the  in- 
vaders were  bringing  into  the  country  could 
not  but  weaken  clerical  and  monarchical 
institutions.  An  active  enemy  to  the  south 
would  have  been  a  serious  hindrance  to 
Napoleon,  and  he  marched  into  the  Papal 
States.  A  fortnight  was  sufficient  to  si- 
lence the  threats  of  his  enemies,  and  on 
February  19,  1797,  he  signed  with  the  Pope 
the  treaty  of  Tolentino.  The  peace  was 
no  sooner  made  than  he  started  again 
against  the  Austrians. 

When  Mantua  fell,  and  Austria  saw  her- 
self driven  from  Italy,  she  had  called  her 
ablest  general,  the  Archduke  Charles,  from 
the  Rhine,  and  given  him  an  army  of  over 


one  hundred  thousand  men  to  lead  against 
Bonaparte.  The  French  had  been  ree'n- 
forced  to  some  seventy  thousand,  and 
though  twenty  thousand  were  necessary 
to  keep  Italy  quiet,  Bonaparte  had  a  fine 
army,  and  he  led  it  confidently  to  meet 
the  main  body  of  the  enemy,  which  had 
been  sent  south  to  protect  Trieste.  Early 
in  March  he  crossed  the  Tagliamento,  and 
in  a  series  of  contests,  in  which  he  was 
uniformly  successful,  he  drove  his  oppo- 
nent back,  step  by  step,  until  Vienna  itself 
was  in  sight,  and  in  April  an  armistice  was 
signed.  In  May  the  French  took  posses- 
sion of  Venice,  which  had  refused  a  French 
alliance,  and  which  was  playing  a  perfidious 
part,  in  Bonaparte's  judgment,  and  a  repub- 
lic on  the  French  model  was  established. 

Italy  and  Austria,  worn  out  and  discour- 
aged by  this  "war  of  principle,"  as  Napo- 
leon called  it,  at  last  compromised,  and  on 
October  i7th,  one  year,  seven  months,  and 
seven  days  after  he  left  Paris,  Napoleon 
signed  the  treaty  of  Campo  Formio.  By 
this  treaty  France  gained  the  frontier  of 
the  Rhine  and  the  Low  Countries  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Scheldt.  Austria  was  given 
Venice,  and  a  republic  called  the  Cisalpine 
was  formed  from  Reggio,  Modena,  Lom- 
bardy,  and  part  of  the  States  of  the  Pope. 

NAPOLEON'S  kuLES  OF  WAR. 

The  military  genius  that  this  twenty- 
seven-year-old  commander  had  shown  in 
the  campaign  in  Italy  bewildered  his  ene- 
mies and  thrilled  his  friends. 

"  Things  go  on  very  badly,"  said  an 
Austrian  veteran  taken  at  Lodi.  "  No  one 
seems  to  know  what  he  is  about.  The 
French  general  is  a  young  blockhead  who 
knows  nothing  of  the  regular  rules  of  war. 
Sometimes  he  is  on  our  right,  at  others  on 
our  left  ;  now  in  front,  and  presently  in  our 
rear.  This  mode  of  warfare  is  contrary  to 
all  system,  and  utterly  insufferable." 

It  is  certain  that  if  Napoleon's  opponents 
never  knew  what  he  was  going  to  do,  if  his 
generals  themselves  were  frequently  un- 
certain, it  being  his  practice  to  hold  his 
peace  about  his  plans,  he  himself  bad  defi- 
nite rules  of  warfare.  The  most  important 
of  these  were : 

"Attacks  should  not  be  scattered,  but 
should  be  concentrated." 

"  Always  be  superior  to  the  enemy  at  the 
point  of  attack." 

"  Time  is  everything." 

To  these  formulated  rules  he  joined  mar- 
vellous fertility  in  stratagem.  The  feint 
by  which,  at  the  beginning  of  the  cam- 


II 

"o    . 

1! 


gs 

rS  "o 
?,  2 


2. 

0)    *• 


§^ 
o  « 

S:    e^ 
E"    w  5 


I 


^   II 

!  a 


O    rt 


From  a  lithograph  by  Raffet. 


paign,  he  had  enticed  Beaulieu  to  march 
on  Genoa,  and  that  by  which,  a  few  days 
later,  he  had  induced  him  to  place  his  army 
near  Valenza,  were  masterpieces  in  their 
way. 

His  quick-wittedness  in  emergency  fre- 
quently saved  him  from  disaster.  Thus, 
on  August  4th,  in  the  midst  of  the  excite- 
ment of  the  contest,  Bonaparte  went  to 
Lonato  to  see  what  troops  could  be  drawn 
from  there.  On  entering  he  was  greatly 
surprised  to  receive  an  Austrian  parlemen- 
taire,  who  called  on  the  commandant  of 
Lonato  to  surrender,  because  the  French 
were  surrounded.  Bonaparte  saw  at  once 
that  the  Austrians  could  be  nothing  but  a 
division  which  had  been  cut  off  and  was 
seeking  escape  ;  but  he  was  embarrassed, 
for  there  were  only  twelve  hundred  men  at 
Lonato.  Sending  for  the  man,  he  had  his 
eyes  unbandaged,  and  told  him  that  if  his 
commander  had  the  presumption  to  capture 
the  general-in-chief  of  the  army  of  Italy 
he  might  advance  ;  that  the  Austrian  divi- 
sion ought  to  have  known  that  he  was  at 
Lonato  with  his  whole  army;  and  he  added 
that  if  they  did  not  lay  down  their  arms  in 
eight  minutes  he  would  not  spare  a  man. 
This  audacity  saved  Bonaparte,  and  won 
him  four  thousand  prisoners  with  guns  and 
cavalry. 

His  fertility  in  stratagem,  his  rapidity  of 
action,  his  audacity  in  attack,  bewildered 


and  demoralized  the  enemy,  but  it  raised 
the  enthusiasm  of  his  imaginative  Southern 
troops  to  the  highest  pitch. 

He  insisted  in  this  campaign  on  one  other 
rule  :  "  Unity  of  command  is  necessary  to 
assure  success."  After  his  defeat  of  the 
Piedmontese,  the  Directory  ordered  him, 
May  7,  1796,  to  divide  his  command  with 
Kellermann.  Napoleon  answered  : 

"  I  believe  it  most  impolitic  to  divide  the  army  of 
Italy  in  two  parts.  It  is  quite  as  much  against  the 
interests  of  the  republic  to  place  two  different  gene- 
rals over  it.  ... 

"  A  single  general  is  not  only  necessary,  but  also 
it  is  essential  that  nothing  trouble  him  in  his  march 
and  operations.  I  have  conducted  this  campaign 
without  consulting  any  one.  I  should  have  done 
nothing  of  value  if  I  had  been  obliged  to  reconcile 
my  plans  with  those  of  another.  I  have  gained  ad- 
vantage over  superior  forces  and  when  stripped  of 
everything  myself,  because  persuaded,  that  your  con- 
fidence was  in  me.  My  action  has  been  as  prompt 
as  my  thought. 

"  If  you  impose  hindrances  of  all  sorts  upon  me, 
if  I  must  refer  every  step  to  government  commission- 
ers, if  they  have  the  right  to  change  my  movements, 
of  taking  from  me  or  of  sending  me  troops,  expect  no 
more  of  any  value.  If  you  enfeeble  your  means  by 
dividing  your  forces,  if  you  break  the  unity  of  mili- 
tary thought  in  Italy,  I  tell  you  sorrowfully  you  will 
lose  the  happiest  opportunity  of  imposing  laws  on 
Italy. 

"  In  the  condition  of  the  affairs  of  the  republic  in 
Italy,  it  is  indispensable  that  you  have  a  general  that 
has  your  entire  confidence.  If  it  is  not  I,  I  am  sorry 
for  it,  but  I  shall  redouble  my  zeal  to  merit  your  es- 
teem in  the  post  you  confide  to  me.  Each  one  has 


NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  SOLDIERS. 


37 


his  own  way  of  carrying  on  war.  General  Keller- 
mann  has  more  experience  and  will  do  it  better  than 
I,  but  both  together  will  do  it  very  badly. 

"  I  can  only  render  the  services  essential  to  the 
country  when  invested  entirely  and  absolutely  with 
your  confidence." 

He  remained  in  charge,  and  throughout 
the  rest  of  the  campaign  continued  to  act 
more  and  more  independently  of  the  Di- 
rectory, even  dictating  terms  of  peace  to 
please  himself. 

INFLUENCE    OVER  SOLDIERS  AND  GENERALS. 

It  was  in  this  Italian  campaign  that  the 
almost  superstitious  adora- 
tion which  Napoleon's  sol- 
diers and  most  of  hisgenerals 
felt  for  him  began.  Brilliant 
generalship  was  not  the  only 
reason  for  this.  It  was  due 
largely  to  his  personal  cour- 
age, which  they  had  discov- 
ered at  Lodi.  A  charge  had 
been  ordered  across  a 
wooden  bridge  swept  by 
thirty  pieces  of  cannon,  and 
beyond  was  the  Austrian 
army.  The  men  hesitated. 
Napoleon  sprang  to  their 
head  and  led  them  into  the 
thickest  of  the  fire.  From 
that  day  he  was  known 
among  them  as  the  "  Little 
Corporal."  He  had  won 
them  by  the  quality  which 
appeals  most  deeply  to  a 
soldier  in  the  ranks — con- 
tempt of  death.  Such  was 
their  devotion  to  him  that 
they  gladly  exposed  their 
lives  if  they  saw  him  in  dan- 
ger. There  were  several 


such  cases  in  the  battle  of  Arcola.  The 
first  day,  when  Bonaparte  was  exposing 
himself  in  an  advance,  his  aide-de-camp, 
Colonel  Muiron,  saw  that  he  was  in  immi- 
nent danger.  Throwing  himself  before 
Bonaparte,  the  colonel  covered  him  with 
his  body,  receiving  the  wound  which  was 
destined  for  the  general.  The  brave  fel- 
low's blood  spurted  into  Bonaparte's  face. 
He  literally  gave  his  life  to  save  his  com- 
mander's. The  same  day,  in  a  final  effort 
to  take  Arcola,  Bonaparte  seized  a  flag, 
rushed  on  the  bridge,  and  planted  it  there. 
His  column  reached  the  middle  of  the 
bridge,  but  there  it  was  broken  by  the 
enemy's  flanking  fire.  The 
grenadiers  at  the  head,  find- 
ing themselves  deserted  by 
the  rear,  were  compelled  to 
retreat ;  but,  critical  as  their 
position  was,  they  refused  to 
abandon  their  general.  They 
seized  him  by  his  arms,  by 
his  clothes,  and  dragged 
him  with  them  through  shot 
and  smoke.  When  one  fell 
out  wounded,  another  pressed 
to  his  place.  Precipitated 
into  the  morass,  Bonaparte 
sank.  The  enemy  were  sur- 
rounding him  when  the  gren- 
adiers perceived  his  danger. 
A  cry  was  raised,  "  Forward, 
soldiers,  to  save  the  Gen-' 
eral ! "  and  immediately  they 
fell  upon  the  Austrians  with 
such  fury  that  they  drove 
them  off,  dragged  out  their 
hero,  and  bore  him  to  a  safe 
place. 

His  addresses  never  failed 
to  stir  them  to  action  and 
enthusiasm.  They  were  ora- 


PORTRAIT   OF   RAFFET. 

Drawn  by  himself  in  the  costume  worn  by  him  during  his  travels  in  Southern  Russia  with  Prince  Demidoff,  in  1837. 
This  portrait,  for  which  we  are  indebted  to  Monsieur  Auguste  Raffet,  son  of  the  illustrious  artist,  is  one  of  the  best  like- 
nesses of  the  latter.  Raffet  saw  Napoleon  only  once.  (This  interesting  fact  was  communicated  to  me  also  by  Monsieur 
Auguste  Raffet.)  It  was  at  the  close  of  1813,  when  Raffet  was  only  about  twelve  years  old  :  but  in  spite  of  his  youth,  he 
retained,  graven  on  his  memory,  an  ineffaceable  impression  of  the  emperor's  features.  Yet  he  had  but  a  momentary 
glimpse  ;  for  the  emperor  was  passing  rapidly  along  the  boulevards  in  a  carriage,  surrounded  by  a  numerous  escort.  The 
emperor  was  already  suffering  from  the  malady  which  was  to  cause  his  death,  and  the  apprehension  of  near  and  inevi- 
table disaster  gave  to  his  deathly  pale  countenance  a  painful  and  tragic  expression.  This  vision  strongly  impressed  the 
child  Raffet.  He  became,  as  it  were,  possessed  by  it ;  and  whether  he  is  depicting  1796,  1810,  1812,  1814,  or  1815.  he  shows 
us  always  a  gloomy,  careworn,  tragic  Bonaparte.  It  can  hardly  be  said  that  among  the  numerous  artists  who  painted 
Napoleon,  Raffet  is  the  one  who  respected  most  conscientiously  the  truth  to  life  of  his  representation.  It  would  have  been 
difficult  for  him  to  do  so,  considering  that  he  was  barely  thirteen  years  old  when  the  emperor  embarked  for  St.  Helena, 
that  he  saw  him  only  on  one  occasion,  and  that  his  young  fingers  did  not  even  trace  from  life  the  outline  of  his  features.  But 
he  has  succeeded,  with  astonishing  skill,  in  embodying,  in  his  numerous  paintings  of  Napoleon,  the  characteristic  features 
of  the  different  portraits  which  were  taken  from  life ;  and  I  will  not  hesitate  to  say  that  it  is  in  the  work  of  Raffet  that 
future  generations  will  delight  to  seek  for  the  true  image  of  Napoleon.  And  it  is  there  they  will  find  it,  both  legendary 
and  true,  but  always  heroic,  such  as  they  will  have  pictured  it  in  their  dreams.  The  emperor  of  Raffet  and  of  Meissonier 
will  remain  the  definite  portrait  of  Napoleon  ;  and  it  must  be  added,  to  the  glcry  of  Raffet,  that  Meissonier's  effigies  of 
Napoleon  were  inspired  entirely  by  his. — A.  D. 


BONAPARTE. 

Engraved  by  Bartolozzi,  R.A.,  an  Italian  engraver,  resident  of  England,  after  the  portrait  by  Appiani. 


torical,  prophetic,  and  abounded  in  phrases 
which  the  soldiers  never  forgot.  Such  was 
his  address  at  Milan  : 

"  Soldiers  !  you  have  precipitated  yourselves  like  a 
torrent  from  the  summit  of  the  Apennines  ;  you  have 
driven  back  and  dispersed  all  that  opposed  your 
march.  Piedmont,  liberated  from  Austrian  tyranny, 
has  yielded  to  her  natural  sentiments  of  peace  and 
amity  towards  France.  Milan  is  yours,  and  the  Re- 
publican flag  floats  throughout  Lombardy,  while  the 
Dukes  of  Modena  and  Parma  owe  their  political  ex- 
istence solely  to  your  generosity.  The  army  which 


so  haughtily  menaced  you,  finds  no  barrier  to  secure 
it  from  your  courage.  The  Po,  the  Ticino,  and  the 
Adda  have  been  unable  to  arrest  your  courage  for  a 
single  day.  Those  boasted  ramparts  of  Italy  proved 
insufficient.  You  have  surmounted  them  as  rapidly 
as  you  cleared  the  Apennines.  So  much  success  has 
diffused  joy  through  the  bosom  of  your  country.  Yes, 
soldiers,  you  have  done  well ;  but  is  there  nothing 
more  for  you  to  accomplish  ?  Shall  it  be  said  of  us 
that  we  knew  how  to  conquer,  but  knew  not  how  to 
profit  by  victory  ?  Shall  posterity  reproach  us  with 
having  found  a  Capua  in  Lombardy  ?  But  I  see  you 
rush  to  arms  ;  unmanly  repose  wearies  you,  and  the 
days  lost  to  glory  are  lost  to  happiness. 


THE  PARISIANS  AND    THE  ITALIAN  CAMPAIGN. 


39 


"  Let  us  set  forward.  We  have  still  forced  marches 
to  perform,  enemies  to  conquer,  laurels  to  gather,  and 
injuries  to  avenge.  Let  those  tremble  who  have 
whetted  the  poniards  of  civil  war  in  France  ;  who 
have,  like  dastards,  assassinated  our  ministers,  and 
burned  our  ships  in  Toulon.  The  hour  of  vengeance 
is  arrived,  but  let  the  people  be  tranquil.  We  are  the 
friends  of  all  nations,  particularly  the  descendants  of 
the  Brutuses,  the  Scipios,  and  those  illustrious  per- 
sons we  have  chosen  for  our  models.  To  restore  the 
Capitol,  replace  with  honor  the  statues  of  the  heroes 
who  rendered  it  renowned,  and  rouse  the  Roman  peo- 
ple, become  torpid  by  so  many  ages  of  slavery — 
shall,  will,  be  the  fruit  of  your  victories.  You  will 
then  return  to  your  homes,  and  your  fellow-citizens 
when  pointing  to  you  will  say,  '  He  was  of  the  army 
of  Italy.'  " 

Such  was  his  address  in  March,  before 
the  final  campaign  against  the  Austrians  : 

' '  You  have  been  victorious  in  fourteen  pitched 
battles  and  sixty-six  combats  ;  you  have  taken  one 
hundred  thousand  prisoners,  five  hundred  pieces  of 
large  cannon  and  two  thousand  pieces  of  smaller, 
four  equipages  for  bridge  pontoons.  The  country 
has  nourished  you,  paid  you  during  your  campaign, 
and  you  have  beside  that  sent  thirty  millions  from 
the  public  treasury  to  Paris.  You  have  enriched  the 
Museum  of  Paris  with  three  hundred  chefs-d'ceuvre 
of  ancient  and  modern  Italy,  which  it  has  taken 
thirty  ages  to  produce.  You  have  conquered  the 
most  beautiful  country  of  Europe.  The  French  col- 
ors float  for  the  first  time  upon  the  borders  of  the 
Adriatic.  The  kings  of  Sardinia  and  Naples,  the 
Pope,  the  Duke  of  Parma  have  become  allies.  You 
have  chased  the  English  from  Leghorn,  Genoa,  and 
Corsica.  You  have  yet  to  march  against  the  Em- 
peror of  Austria." 

His  approval  was  their  greatest  joy.  Let 
him  speak  a  word  of  praise  to  a  regiment, 
and  they  embroidered  it  on  their  banners. 
"I  was  at  ease,  the  Thirty-second  was 
there,"  was  on  the  flag  of  that  regiment. 
Over  the  Fifty-seventh  floated  a  name 
Napoleon  had  called  them  by,  "  The  ter- 
rible Fifty-seventh." 

His  displeasure  was  a  greater  spur  than 
his  approval.  He  said  to  a  corps  which 
had  retreated  in  disorder:  "Soldiers,  you 
have  displeased  me.  You  have  shown 
neither  courage  nor  constancy,  but  have 
yielded  positions  where  a  handful  of  men 
might  have  defied  an  army.  You  are  no 
longer  French  soldiers.  Let  it  be  written 
on  their  colors,  '  They  no  longer  form  part 
of  the  Army  of  Italy.'  "  A  veteran  pleaded 
that  they  be  placed  in  the  van,  and  during 
the  rest  of  the  campaign  no  regiment  was 
more 'distinguished. 

The  effect  of  his  genius  was  as  great  on 
his  generals  as  on  his  troops.  They  were 
dazzled  by  his  stratagems  and  manoeuvres, 
inspired  by  his  imagination.  "  There  was 
so  much  of  the  future  in  him,"  is  Marmont's 
expressive  explanation.  They  could  be- 


lieve anything  of  him.  A  remarkable  set 
of  men  they  were  to  have  as  followers 
and  friends — Augereau,  Massena,  Berthier, 
Marmont,  Junot. 

IMPRESSIONS    OF    THE    ITALIAN    CAMPAIGN 
IN    PARIS. 

The  people  and  the  government  in  Paris 
had  begun  to  believe  in  him,  as  did  the 
Army  of  Italy.  He  not  only  sent  flags  and 
reports  of  victory  ;  he  sent  money  and 
works  of  art.  Impoverished  as  the  Direct- 
ory was,  the  sums  which  came  from  Italy 
were  a  reason  for  not  interfering  with  the 
high  hand  the  young  general  carried  in  his 
campaign  and  treaties. 


"NAPOLEONE    BUONAPARTE. 

"Engraved  by  Henry  Richter  from  the  celebrated  bust 
by  Ceracchi,  lately  brought  from  Paris  and  now  in  his  pos- 
session. Published  June  i,  1801,  by  H.  Richter,  No.  26  New- 
man Street,  Oxford  Street."  This  bust  was  made  in  the 
Italian  campaign  by  Ceracchi.  a  Corsican  working  in  Rome. 
Ceracchi  left  Rome  in  1799  to  escape  punishment  for  taking 
part  in  an  insurrection  in  the  city,  and  went  to  Paris,  where 
he  hoped  to  receive  aid  from  the  First  Consul.  He  made  the 
busts  of  several  generals--Berthier,  Masse'na,  and  Berna- 
dotte— but  as  orders  did  not  multiply,  and  Napoleon  did 
nothing  for  him,  he  became  incensed  against  him,  and  took 
part  in  a  plot  to  assassinate  the  First  Consul  at  the  opera, 
the  i8th  Brumaire,  1801.  Arrested  on  his  way  to  the  loge  in 
the  opera,  he  was  executed  soon  after. 


BONAPARTE   AT   MALMAISON. 

The  title  on  the  engraving  reads:  "Bonaparte,  d^did  &  Madame  Bonaparte  ''  Engraved 
in  1803  by  Godefroy,  after  Isabey.  In  1798,  after  Josephine  de  Beauharnais  had  become  Madame 
Bonaparte,  she  bought,  for  thirty-two  thousand  dollars,  a  property  at  Marly,  eight  miles 
from  Paris,  known  as  Malmaison.  While  Napoleon  was  in  Egypt,  Josephine  spent  most  of 
her  time  here,  gathering  about  her  a  circle  of  the  beaux  esprits  of  the  day,  including  Ber- 
nardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  Arnault,  Chenier,  Talma,  Gerard,  Girodet,  Mesdames  Tallien, 
Regnault  de  Saint  Jean  d'Angely,  the  Comtesse  d'Houdetot,  and  Fanny  de  Beauharnais. 
When  Napoleon  returned  from  Egypt  he  found  waiting  him  a  powerful  salon.  After  the  i8th 
Brumaire,  Malmaison  was  enlarged  and  beautified,  becoming,  in  fact,  another  Trianon.  Its 
park  contained  kiosks,  a  Aameau,  a  temple  of  love,  a  theatre,  fountains,  lakes,  and  gardens, 
and  the  chateau  a  fine  library  and  many  valuable  works  of  art.  A  few  of  the  pictures  brought 
to  France  as  spoils  of  war  were  deposited  at  Malmaison.  especially  two  superb  Paul  Potters. 
Napoleon  is  said  to  have  always  regretted,  when  he  looked  at  them,  that  Josephine  had  taken 
them,  as  he  wanted  them  for  the  Museum.  Before  the  end  of  the  consulate  the  Bonapartes 
left  Malmaison  for  Saint  Cloud,  and  after  the  Empire  the  place  was  almost  entirely  abandoned. 
When  the  divorce  was  pronounced  in  1811  Josephine  retired  to  Malmaison,  where  she  died  in 
1814,  three  days  after  a  visit  from  the  Emperor  Alexander,  whose  army  had  just  invaded  France. 
Napoleon  visited  Malmaison  after  his  return  from  Elba,  and  spent  five  days  there  after 
Waterloo.  Malmaison  passed  to  Prince  Eugene,  who  sold  it  to  private  parties  in  1826.  In  1861 
the  state  bought  it,  and  still  owns  it. 


JOSEPHINE  AT  MALMAISON. 

By  Prud'hon.  This  charming  portrait,  which  is  one  of  Prud'hon's  most  successful  works,  and  also  one  of  the 
most  graceful  and  faithful  likenesses  of  Josephine,  was  doubtless  executed  at  the  same  time  as  Isabey's  pic- 
ture of  Napoleon  wandering,  a  solitary  dreamer,  in  the  long  alleys  at  Malmaison,  (1798).  (See  opposite  page.) 
Prud'hon  shows  us  Josephine  in  the  garden  of  the  chateau  she  loved  so  well,  and  in  which  she  spent  the  happiest 
moments  of  her  life,  before  seeking  it  as  a  final  refuge  in  her  grief  and  despair.  The  empress  presents  a  full- 
length  portrait,  turned  to  the  left ;  she  is  seated  on  a  stone  bench  amid  the  groves  of  the  park,  in  an  attitude  of 
reverie,  and  wears  a  white  decollete robe  embroidered  in  gold.  A  crimson  shawl  is  draped  round  her.— A.  D 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


Never  before  had  France  received  such 
letters  from  a  general.  Now  he  announces 
that  he  has  sent "  twenty  first  masters,  from 
Correggio  to  Michael  Angelo  ;  "  now,  "  a 
dozen  millions  of  money  ;"  now,  two  or 
three  millions  in  jewels  and  diamonds  to 
be  sold  in  Paris.  In  return  he  asks  only 
for  men  and  officers  "  who  have  fire  and  a 
firm  resolution  not  to  make  learned  retreats." 

The  entry  into  Paris  of  the  first  art  ac- 
quisitions made  a  profound  impression  on 
the  people: 

"  The  procession  of  enormous  cars,  drawn  by  richly 

caparisoned  horses,  was  divided  into  four  sections. 

First   came  trunks   filled  with    books,  manuscripts, 

including   the   antiques   of   Josephus,    on 

papyrus,    with    works  in    the 

handwriting  of  Galileo.  .  .  .  ^^^^mmmm,^mmm^m 
Then  followed  collections  of 
mineral  products.  .  .  .  For 
the  occasion  were  added 
wagons  laden  with  iron  cages 
containing  lions,  tigers,  pan- 
thers, over  which  waved  enor- 
mous palm  branches  and  all 
kinds  of  exotic  shrubs.  After- 
wards rolled  along  chariots 
bearing  pictures  carefully 
packed,  but  with  the  names  of 
the  most  important  inscribed 
in  large  letters  on  the  outside, 
as,  The  Transfiguration,  by 
Raphael ;  The  Christ,  by 
Titian.  The  number  was 
great,  the  value  greater. 
When  these  trophies  had 
passed,  amid  the  applause  of 
an  excited  crowd,  a  heavy 
rumbling  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  massive  carts  bear- 
ing statues  and  marble  groups: 
the  Apollo  Belvidere;  the 
Nine  Muses ;  the  LaocoOn. 
.  .  .  The  Venus  de  Medici 
was  eventually  added,  decked 
with  bouquets,  crowns  of 
flowers,  flags  taken  from  the 
enemy,  and  French,  Italian, 
and  Greek  inscriptions.  De- 
tachments of  cavalry  and  in- 
fantry, colors  flying,  drums  beating,  music  playing, 
marched  at  intervals ;  the  members  of  the  newly 
established  Institute  fell  into  line  ;  artists  and  savants  ; 
and  the  singers  of  the  theatres  made  the  air  ring  with 
national  hymns.  This  procession  marched  through 
all  Paris,  and  at  the  Champ  de  Mars  defiled  before 
the  five  members  of  the  Directory,  surrounded  by 
their  subordinate  officers." 


about  its  chief  art  objects,  in  order  to 
demand  them  in  case  of  victory,  for  it  was 
by  treaty  that  they  were  usually  obtained. 
Among  the  works  of  art  which  Napoleon 
sent  to  Paris  were  twenty-five  Raphaels, 
twenty-three  Titians,  fifty-three  Rubenses, 
thirty-three  Van  Dykes,  thirty-one  Rem- 
brandts. 

NAPOLEON'S  STAR. 

In  Italy  rose  Napoleon's  "  star,"  that 
mysterious  guide  which  he  followed  from 
Lodi  to  Waterloo.  Here  was  born  that 
faith  in  himself  and  his  future,  that  belief 
that  he  "  marched  under  the  protection  of 
the  goddess  of  fortune 
and  of  war,"  that  con- 
fidence that  he  was  en- 
dowed with  a  " good 
genius." 

He  called  Lodi  the 
birthplace  of  this  faith. 

"Vendemiaire  and 
even  Montenotte  did  not 
make  me  believe  myself 
a  superior  man.  It  was 
only  after  Lodi  that  it 
came  into  my  head  that 
I  could  become  a  deci- 
sive actor  on  our  politi- 
cal field.  Then  was  born 
the  first  spark  of  high 
ambition." 

Trained  in  a  religion 
full  of  mysticism,  taught 
to  believe  in  signs, 
guided  by  a  "star," 
there  is  a  tinge  of  super- 
stition throughout  his 
active,  practical,  hard- 
working life.  Marmont 
tells  that  one  day  while 
in  Italy  the  glass  over 
the  portrait  of  his  wife,  which  he  always 
wore,  was  broken. 

"  He  turned  frightfully  pale,  and  the  im- 
pression upon  him  was  most  sorrowful. 
'  Marmont,'  he  said,  'my  wife  is  very  ill  or 
she  is  unfaithful.'  "  There  are  many  similar 
anecdotes  to  show  his  dependence  upon 
and  confidence  in  omens. 


'     'I     • 


"THE  GENERAL  OF  THE  GRAND  ARMY. 

This  pencil  portrait  by  David  is  nothing 
but  a  rapid  sketch,  but  its  iconographic  interest 
is  undeniable.-  David  doubtless  executed  this 
design  towards  the  end  of  1797,  after  Bona- 
parte's return  from  Italy.  It  belongs  to  Mon- 
sieur Cheramy,  a  Paris  lawyer. — A.  D. 


The  practice  of  sending  home  works  of 
art,  begun  in  the  Italian  campaign,  Napo- 
leon continued  throughout  his  military 

career,  and  the  art  of  France  owes  much  LOVE  IN  WAR. 

to  the  education  thus  given  the  artists  of 
the  first  part  of  this  century.  In  a  campaign  of  such  achievements  as 

His  agents  ransacked  Italy,  Spain,  Ger-  that  in  Italy  there  seems  to  be  no  time  for 
many,  and  Flanders  for  chefs-d'oeuvre,  love,  and  yet  love  was  never  more  impera- 
When  entering  a  country  one  of  the  first  ~tive,  more  absorbing,  in  Napoleon's  life 
things  he  did  was  to  collect  information  than  during  this  period. 


LOVE  AND    WAR. 


43 


"  Oh,  my  adorable  wife,"  he  wrote  Josephine  in 
April,  "  I  do  not  know  what  fate  awaits  me,  but  if  it 
keeps  me  longer  from  you,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  en- 
dure it ;  my  courage  will  not  hold  out  to  that  point. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  was  proud  of  my  courage  ; 
and  when  I  thought  of  the  harm  that  men  might  do 
me,  of  the  lot  that  my  destiny  might  reserve  for  me, 
I  looked  at  the  most  terrible  misfortunes  without  a 
quiver,  with  no  surprise.  But  now,  the  thought  that 
my  Josephine  may  be  in  trouble,  that  she  may  be  ill, 
and^  above  all,  the  cruel,  fatal  thought  that  she  may 
love  me  less,  inflicts  torture  in  my  soul,  stops  the 
beating  of  my  heart,  makes  me  sad  and  dejected, 
robs  me  of  even  the  courage  of  fury  and  despair.  I 
often  used  to  say,  '  Man  can  do  no  harm  to  one  who 
is  willing  to  die  ; '  but  now,  to  die  without  being  loved 
by  you,  to  die  without  this  certainty,  is  the  torture  of 
hell ;  it  is  the  vivid  and  crushing  image  of  total  anni- 
hilation. It  seems  to  m;  as  if  I  were  choking.  My 
only  companion,  you  who  have  been  chosen  by  fate 
to  make  with  me  the  painful  journey  of  life,  the  day 
when  I  shall  no  longer  possess  your  heart  will  be 
that  when  for  me  the  world  shall  have  lost  all  warmth 
and  all  its  vegetation.  ...  I  will  stop,  my  sweet 
pet  ;  my  soul  is  sad.  I  am  very  tired,  my  mind  is 
worn  out,  I  am  sick  of  men.  I  have  good  reason 
for  hating  them.  They  separate  me  from  my  love." 

Josephine  was  indifferent  to  this  strong 
passion.  "  How  quee^  Bonaparte  is  !  "  she 
said  coldly  at  the  evidences  of  his  affection 
which  he  poured  upon  her  ;  and  when,  after 
a  few  weeks  separation,  he  began  to  im- 
plore her  to  join  him,  she  hesitated,  made 
excuses,  tried  in  every  possible  way  to  evade 
his  wish.  It  was  not  strange  that  a  woman 
of  her  indolent  nature,  loving  flattery,  hav- 
ing no  passion  but  for  amusement,  reckless 
expenditure,  and  her  own  ease,  should  pre- 
fer life  in  Paris.  There  she  shared  with 
Madame  Tallien  the  adoration  which  the 
Parisian  world  is  always  bestowing  on  some 
fair  woman.  At  opera  and  ball  she  was  the 
centre  of  attraction  ;  even  in  the  street  the 
people  knew  her.  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires 
was  the  name  they  gave  her. 

In  desperation  at  her  indifference,  Napo- 
leon finally  wrote  her,  in  June,  from  Tor- 
tona : 

"  My  life  is  a  perpetual  nightmare.  A  black  pre- 
sentiment makes  breathing  difficult.  I  am  no  longer 
alive  ;  I  have  lost  more  than  life,  more  than  happi- 
ness, more  than  peace  ;  I  am  almost  without  hope. 
I  am  sending  you  a  courier.  He  will  stay  only  four 
hours  in  Paris,  and  then  will  bring  me  your  answer. 
Write  to  me  ten  pages  ;  that  is  the  only  thing  that 
can  console  me  in  the  least.  You  are  ill ;  you  love 
me  ;  I  have  distressed  you  ;  you  are  with  child  ;  and  I 
do  not  see  you.  ...  I  have  treated  you  so  ill 
that  I  do  not  know  how  to  set  myself  right  in  your 
eyes.  I  have  been  blaming  you  for  staying  in  Paris, 
and  you  have  been  ill  there.  Forgive  me,  my  dear  ; 
the  love  with  which  you  have  filled  me  has  robbed 
me  of  my  reason,  and  I  shall  never  recover  it.  It  is 
a  malady  from  which  there  is  no  recovery.  My  fore- 
bodings are  so  gloomy  that  all  I  ask  is  to  see  you,  to 
hold  you  in  my  arms  for  two  hours,  and  that  we  may 
die  together.  Who  is  taking  care  of  you  ?  I  suppose 
that  you  have  sent  for  Hortense ;  I  love  the  dear 


child  a  thousand  times  better  since  I  think  that  she 
may  console  you  a  little.  As  for  me,  I  am  without 
consolation,  rest,  and  hope  until  I  see  again  the  mes- 
senger whom  I  am  sending  to  you,  and  until  you 
explain  to  me  in  a  long  letter  just  what  is  the  matter 
with  you,  and  how  serious  it  is.  If  there  were  any 
danger,  I  warn  you  that  I  should  start  at  once  for 
Paris.  .  .  .  You  !  you  ! — and  the  rest  of  the  world 
will  not  exist  for  me  any  more  than  if  it  had  been 
annihilated.  I  care  for  honor  because  you  care  for 
it ;  for  victory,  because  it  brings  you  pleasure  ;  other- 
wise, I  should  abandon  everything  to  throw  myself  at 
your  feet." 

After  this  letter  Josephine  consented  to 
go  to  Italy,  but  she  left  Paris  weeping  as  if 
going  to  her  execution.  Once  at  Milan, 
where  she  held  almost  a  court,  she  re- 
covered her  gayety,  and  the  two  were  very 
happy  for  a  time.  But  it  did  not  last. 
Napoleon,  obliged  to  be  on  the  march, 
would  implore  Josephine  to  come  to  him 
here  and  there,  and  once  she  narrowly 
escaped  with  her  life  when  trying  to  get 
away  from  the  army. 

Wherever  she  was  installed  she  had  a 
circle  of  adorers  about  her,  and  as  a  result 
she  neglected  writing  to  her  husband.  Re- 
proaches and  entreaties  filled  his  letters. 
He  begged  her  for  only  a  line,  and  he  im- 
plored her  that  she  be  less  cold. 

"  Your  letters  are  as  cold  as  fifty  years  of  age  ;  one 
would  think  they  had  been  written  after  we  had  been, 
married  fifteen  years.  They  are  full  of  the  friendli- 
ness and  feelings  of  life's  winter.  .  .  .  What 
more  can  you  do  to  distress  me  ?  Stop  loving  me  ? 
That  you  have  already  done.  Hate  me  ?  Well,  I 
wish  you  would  ;  everything  degrades  me  except 
hatred;  but  indifference,  with  a  calm  pulse,  fixed  eyes, 
monotonous  walk  !  .  .  .  A  thousand  kisses,  ten- 
der, like  my  heart." 

It  was  not  merely  indolence  and  indiffer- 
ence that  caused  Josephine's  neglect.  It 
was  coquetry  frequently,  and  Napoleon,  in- 
formed by  his  couriers  as  to  whom  she 
received  at  Milan  or  Genoa,  and  of  the 
pleasures  she  enjoyed,  was  jealous  with  all 
the  force  of  his  nature.  More  than  one 
young  officer  who  dared  pay  homage  to  Jo- 
sephine in  this  campaign  was  banished  "  by 
order  of  the  commander-in-chief."  Reach' 
ing  Milan  once,  unexpectedly,  he  found 
her  gone.  His  disappointment  was  bitter. 

"  I  reached  Milan,  rushed  to  your  rooms,  having 
thrown  up  everything  to  see  you,  to  press  you  to  my 
heart — you  were  not  there  ;  you  are  travelling  about 
from  one  town  to  another,  amusing  yourself  with 
balls.  .  .  .  My  unhappiness  is  inconceivable. 
Don't  put  yourself  out ;  pursue  your  pleas- 
ure ;  happiness  is  made  for  you." 

It  was  between  such  extremes  of  triumph- 
ant love  and  black  despair  that  Napoleon 
lived  throughout  the  Italian  campaign. 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON 


CHAPTER   VI. 


NAPOLEON'S  RETURN  TO  PARIS.— THE  EGYPTIAN  CAMPAIGN.— THE  i8TH  BRUMAIRE 

IN  December,  1797,  he  returned  to  Paris.  On  the  4th  of   May  he  left  Paris  for  Tou- 

His   whole    family  were   collected    there,  Ion. 

forming   a    "  Bonaparte    colony,"    as    the  To  Napoleon  this  expedition  was  a  mer- 
Parisians  called  it.    There  were  Joseph  and  ciful    escape.     He  once  said  to   Madame 
his  wife;  Lucien,  now  married  to  Christine  Re"musat  : 
Boyer,  his  old  landlord's  daughter,  a  mar- 
riage Napoleon  never  forgave  ;   Eliza,  now  "  In  Paris,  and  Paris  is  France,  they  never  can  take 


Madame  Bacciochi ;  Paul- 
ine, now  Madame  Leclerc. 
Madame  Letitia  was  in  the 
city,  with  Caroline  ;  Louis 
and  Jerome  were  still  in 
school.  Josephine  had  her 
daughter  Hortense,  a  girl  of 
thirteen,  with  her.  Her  son 
Eugene,  though  but  fifteen 
years  old,  was  away  on  a 
mission  for  Napoleon,  who, 
in  spite  of  the  boy's  youth, 
had  already  taken  him  into 
his  confidence  According 
to  Napoleon's  express  de- 
sire, all  the  family  lived  in 
great  simplicity. 

The  return  to  Paris  of  the 
commander-in-chieL  of  the 
Army  of  Italy  was  the  sig- 
nal for  a  popular  ovation. 
The  Directory  gave  him 
every  honor,  changing  the 
name  of  the  street  in  which 
he  lived  to  rue  de  la  Victoire, 
and  making  him  a  member 
of  the  Institute  ;  but,  con- 
scious of  its  feebleness,  and 
inspired  by  that  suspicion 
which  since  the  Revolution 
began  had  caused  the  ruin 
of  so  many  men,  it  planned 
to  get  rid  of  him. 

Of  the  coalition  against 
France,  formed  in  1793,  one 
member  alone  remained  in 
arms — England.  Napoleon 
was  to  be  sent  against  her. 
An  invasion  of  the  island 
was  first  discussed,  and  he 


BUST   OF    BONAPARTE. 

Bust  in  terra  cotta,  occupying  a 
place  of  honor  in  the  Museum  of  Ver- 
sailles. It  is  one  of  the  best  likenesses 
of  Bonaparte.  The  original  has  been 
sought  in  vain  ;  the  probability  is  that 
it  no  longer  exists,  and  that  the  Ver- 
sailles copy  is  the  only  one.  As  far  as 
we  know,  this  remarkable  work  has 
never  before  been  reproduced,  prob- 
ably on  account  of  the  bad  light  in 
which  it  stands.  It  bears  the  follow- 
ing inscription:  "  Le  gtnera.1  Bona- 
parte en  l*an  8.  Fait  par  Corbet  en 
fan  VIII."1  This  bust  was  made  in 
Egypt.  A  very  beautiful  marble  copy 
of  the  Corbet  bust,  made  by  Iselin,  is 
in  the  fine  Napoleonic  collection  of 
Mr.  Charles  Bonaparte  of  Baltimore. 


the  smallest  interest  in  things,  if 
they  do  not  take  it  in  persons.  .  .  . 
The  great  difficulty  of  the  Direct- 
ory was  that  no  one  cared  about 
them,  and  that  people  began  to 
care  too  much  about  me.  This 
was  why  I  conceived  the  happy 
idea  of  going  to  Egypt." 

He  was  under  the  influ- 
ence, too,  of  his  imagina- 
tion ;  the  Orient  had  always 
tempted  him.  It  is  certain 
that  he  went  away  with 
gigantic  projects — nothing 
less  than  to  conquer  the 
whole  of  the  East,  and  to 
become  its  ruler  and  law- 
giver. 

"I  dreamed  of  all  sorts  of 
things,  and  I  saw  a  way  of  carry- 
ing all  my  projects  into  practical 
execution.  I  would  create  a  new 
religion.  I  saw  myself  in  Asia, 
upon  an  elephant,  wearing  a  tur- 
ban, and  holding  in  my  hand  a 
new  Koran  which  I  had  myself 
composed.  I  would  have  united 
in  my  enterprise  the  experiences 
of  two  hemispheres,  exploring  for 
my  benefit  and  instruction  all  his- 
tory, attacking  the  power  of  Eng- 
land in  the  Indies,  and  renewing, 
by  their  conquest,  my  relations 
with  old  Europe.  The  time  I 
passed  in  Egypt  was  the  most 
delightful  period  of  my  life,  for 
it  was  the  most  ideal." 

His  friends,  watching  his 
irritation  during  the  days 
before  the  campaign  had 
been  decided  upon,  said : 
"  A  free  flight  in  space  is 


what    such   wings   demand, 

made  an  examination  of  the  north  coast.  He  will  die  here.    He  must  go."    He  himself 

His  report  was  adverse,  and  he  substituted  said  :  "  Paris  weighs  on  me  like  a  leaden 

a  plan  for  the  invasion  of  Egypt — an  old  mantle." 
idea  in  the  French  government. 

The     Directory    gladly    accepted     the  EXPEDITION  IN  EGYPT,   1798-1799- 

change,    and    Napoleon    was    made   com-  Napoleon  sailed  from   France  on    May 

mander-in-chief   of    the    Army  of    Egypt.  19,  1798  ;  on  June  9th  he  reached  Malta, 


VISCOUNT    NELSc'N,    DUKE    OF    BRONTE    (1758-1805). 

Engraved  by  Dick,  after  portrait  by  Knight.  Nelson  was  born  at  Barnham,  England.  He  entered  the 
navy  at  twelve  years  of  age.  Was  made  a  post-captain  when  twenty-one  years  old,  and  during  the  next 
few  years  was  engaged  actively  in  the  American  war.  When  war  was  declared  between  France  and 
England  in  1793,  Nelson  was  given  command  of  the  "Agamemnon,"  and  sent  to  the  Mediterranean, 
where  he  took  part  in  the  sieges  of  Bastia  and  Cadiz.  For  his  services  in  the  winter  of  1795-96  he  was 
made  commodore,  and  for  his  daring  and  skill  in  the  engagement  with  the  Spanish  off  Cape  St.  Vincent, 
February  13,  1797,  he  received  the  Order  of  the  Bath  and  was  made  admiral.  When  Napoleon  started  for 
Egypt,  Nelson  was  ordered  to  intercept  him,  but  his  squadron  was  crippled  in  a  gale  and  Napoleon 
escaped.  On  August  i,  1798,  he  attacked  the  French  fleet  in  the  harbor  of  Aboukir,  and  destroyed  all 
but  two  of  the  thirteen  French  ships.  For  the  battle  of  the  Nile,  Nelson  received  a  peerage.  Nelson  now 
went  against  Naples,  where,  after  the  French  had  been  driven  from  Italy  and  an  amnesty  declared,  he 
allowed  the  trial  and  sentence  of  Caraccioli,  the  admiral  of  the  Neapolitan  fleet— a  judicial  murder  similar 
to  that  of  the  Due  d'Enghien.  In  the  spring  of  1801  Nelson  went  to  the  Baltic.  At  Copenhagen  he 
engaged  the  Danish  and  won  the  title  of  viscount.  On  the  renewal  of  war  between  France  and  England 
in  1803,  Nelson  went  to  the  Mediterranean,  where  for  two  years  he  kept  the  French  shut  in  port  at 
Toulon,  while  Napoleon  was  preparing  for  the  invasion  of  England  at  Boulogne.  In  March,  1805,  the 
French  Admiral  Villeneuve  escaped.  Nelson  sought  him  in  the  Mediterranean,  chased  him  across  the 
Atlantic  and  back  again,  and  finally,  in  September,  1805,  found  him  at  Cadiz.  In  October  the  French 
were  forced  to  battle  off  Cape  Trafalgar,  where  Nelson  won  a  glorious  victory,  though  at  the  cost  of  his 
life.  His  remains  were  interred  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  on  January  9,  1806. 


KAPOLEON    AS  GENERAL-IN-CHIEF   OF  THE    ARMY   IN    EGYPT.  UESAIX. 

The  portraits  on  passes  46,  47,  48,  and  49,  of  the  principal  members  of  the  Egyptian  Commission  and  the  principal  gen- 
erals of  the  Army  of  the  East,  are  by  Dutertre,  and  from  the  collection  of  Baron  Larrey.  Hitherto  unpublished.  They 
are  of  great  importance  on  account  of  their  unflinching  reality.  Dutertre.  who  took  part  in  the  expedition  in  the  quality 
of  official  painter,  was  above  all  things  a  skilful  draughtsman ;  his  pencil  was  always  well-sharpened  and  his  observation 
penetrating.  Inaccessible  to  flattery,  he  never  sought  to  idealize  his  models,  or  to  represent  them  with  Olympian  features 
and  in  the  attitude  of  demi-gods.  His  portraits,  all  taken  from  life,  will  live  in  history  as  most  reliable  documents.— A.  D. 


and  won  for  France  "  the  strongest  place 
in  Europe."  July  2d  he  entered  Alexan- 
dria. On  July  3d  he  entered  Cairo,  after 
the  famous  battle  of  the  Pyramids. 

The  French  fleet  had  remained  in  Abou- 
kir  Bay  after  landing  the  army,  and  on 
August  ist  was  attacked  by  Nelson.  Na- 
poleon had  not  realized,  before  this  battle, 
the  power  of  the  English  on  the  sea.  He 
knew  nothing  of  Nelson's  genius.  The  de- 
struction of  his  fleet,  and  the  consciousness 
that  he  and  his  army  were  prisoners  in  the 
Orient,  opened  his  eyes  to  the  greatest 
weakness  of  France. 

The  winter  was  spent  in  reorganizing 
the  government  of  Egypt  and  in  scientific 
work.  Over  one  hundred  scientists  had 
been  added  to  the  Army  of  Egypt,  includ- 
ing some  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  the 
day  :  Monge,  Geoffroy-St.-Hilaire,  Berthol- 
let,  Fourier,  and  Denon.  From  their  arrival 
every  opportunity  was  given  them  to  carry 
on  their  work.  To  stimulate  them,  Napo- 
leon founded  the  Institute  of  Egypt,  in 
which  membership  was  granted  as  a  reward 
for  services. 

These  scientists  went  out  in  every  direc- 
tion, pushing  their  investigations  up  the 
Nile  as  far  as  Philoe,  tracing  the  bed  of 
the  old  canal  from  Suez  to  the  Nile,  un- 
earthing ancient  monuments,  making  col- 
lections of  the  flora  and  fauna,  examining 
in  detail  the  arts  and  industries  of  the  peo- 
ple. Everything,  from  the  inscription  on 
the  Rosetta  Stone  to  the  incubation  of 
chickens,  received  their  attention. 

On  the  return  of  the  expedition,  their 
researches  were  published  in  a  magnificent 
work  called  "  Description  de  1'Egypte." 


The  information  gathered  by  the  French 
at  this  time  gave  a  great  impetus  to  the 
study  of  Egyptology,  and  their  investiga- 
tions on  the  old  Suez  canal  led  directly  to 
the  modern  work. 

The  peaceful  work  of  science  and  law- 
giving  which  Napoleon  was  conducting  in 
Egypt  was  interrupted  by  the  news  that 
the  Porte  had  declared  war  against  France, 
and  that  two  Turkish  armies  were  on  their 
way  to  Egypt.  In  March  he  set  off  to 
Syria  to  meet  the  first. 

This  Syrian  expedition  was  a  failure,  end- 
ing in  a  retreat  made  horrible  not  only  by 
the  enemy  in  the  rear,  but  by  pestilence  and 
heat. 

The  disaster  was  a  terrible  disillusion  for 
Napoleon.  It  ended  his  dream  of  an  Ori- 
ental realm  for  himself,  of  a  kingdom  em- 
bracingthe  whole  Mediterranean  for  France. 
"  I  missed  my  fortune  at  St.  Jean  d'Acre," 
he  told  his  brother  Lucien  afterward  ;  and 
again,  "  I  think  my  imagination  died  at  St. 
Jean  d'Acre."  The  words  are  those  of  the 
man  whose  discouragement  at  a  failure 
was  as  profound  as  his  hope  at  success  was 
high. 

As  Napoleon  entered  Egypt  from  Syria, 
he  learned  that  the  second  Turkish  army 
was  near  the  Bay  of  Aboukir.  He  turned 
against  it  and  defeated  it  completely.  In 
the  exchange  of  prisoners  made  after  the 
battle,  a  bundle  of  French  papers  fell  into 
his  hands.  It  was  the  first  news  he  had 
had  for  ten  months  from  France,  and  sad 
news  it  was  :  Italy  lost,  an  invasion  of 
Austrians  and  Russians  threatening,  the 
Directory  discredited  and  tottering. 

If  the  Oriental  empire  of  his  imagination 


. 


BERTHIER. 


had  fallen,  might  it  not  be  that  in  Europe 
a  kingdom  awaited  him?  He  decided  to 
leave  Egypt  at  once,  and  with  the  greatest 
secrecy  prepared  for  his  departure.  The 
army  was  turned  over  to  Kleber,  and  with 
four  small  vessels  he  sailed  for  France  on 
the  night  of  August  22,  1799.  On  October 
1 6th  he  was  in  Paris. 


THE    l8TH    BRUMAIRE. 

For  a  long  time  nothing  had  been  heard 
of  Napoleon  in  France.  The  people  said 
he  had  been  exiled  by  the  jealous  Direct- 
ory. His  disappearance  into  the  Orient 
had  all  the  mystery  and  fascination  of  an 
Eastern  tale.  His  sudden  reappearance 
had  something  of  the  heroic  in  it.  He 
came  like  a  god  from  Olympus,  unheralded, 
but  at  the  critical  instant. 

The  joy  of  the  people,  who  at  that  day 
certainly  preferred  a  hero  to  suffrage,  was 
spontaneous  and  sincere.  His  journey 
from  the  coast  to  Paris  was  a  triumphal 
march.  Le  retour  du  he'ros  was  the  word  in 
everybody's  mouth.  On  every  side  the 
people  cried  :  "  You  alone  can  save  the 
country.  It  is  perishing  without  you. 
Take  the  reins  of  government." 

At  Paris  he  found  the  government  wait- 
ing to  be  overthrown.  "  A  brain  and  a 
sword  "  was  all  that  was  needed  to  carry 
out  a  coup  d'etat  organized  while  he  was 
still  in  Africa.  Everybody  recognized  him 
as  the  man  for  the  hour.  A  large  part  of 
the  military  force  in  Paris  was  devoted  to 
him.  His  two  brothers,  Lucien  and  Joseph, 
were  in  positions  of  influence,  the  former 
president  of  the  Five  Hundred,  as  one  of 
the  two  chambers  was  called.  All  that  was 
most  distinguished  in  the  political,  mili- 
tary, legal,  and  artistic  circles  of  Paris 
rallied  to  him.  Among  the  men  who 
supported  him  were  Talleyrand,  Sieyes, 


Kl.EllER. 


Che"nier,    Roederer,    Monge,    Cambaceres, 
Moreau,  Berthier,  Murat. 

On  the  i8th  Brumaire  (the  gth  of  No- 
vember), 1799,  the  plot  culminated,  and 
Napoleon  was  recognized  as  the  temporary 
Dictator  of  France. 


NAPOLEON    AND    JOSEPHINE. 

The  private  sorrow  to  which  Napoleon 
returned,  was  as  great  as  the  public  glory. 
During  the  campaign  in  Egypt  he  had 
learned  beyond  a  doubt  that  Josephine's 
coquetry  had  become  open  folly,  and  that 
a  young  officer,  Hippolyte  Charles,  whom 
he  had  dismissed  from  the  Army  of  Italy 
two  years  before,  was  installed  at  Malmai- 
son:  The  liaison  was  so  scandalous  that 
Gohier,  the  president  of  the  Directory, 
advised  Josephine  to  get  a  divorce  from 
Napoleon  and  marry  Charles. 

These  rumors  reached  Egypt,  and  Na- 
poleon, in  despair,  even  talked  them  over 
with  Eugene  de  Beauharnais.  The  boy 
defended  his  mother,  and  for  a  time  suc- 
ceeded in  quieting  Napoleon's  resentment. 
At  last,  however,  he  learned  in  a  talk  with 
Junot  that  the  gossip  was  true.  He  lost 
all  control  of  himself,  and  declared  he 
would  have  a  divorce.  The  idea  was  aban- 
doned, but  the  love  and  reverence  he  had 
given  Josephine  were  dead.  From  that 
time  she  had  no  empire  over  his  heart,  no 
power  to  inspire  him  to  action  or  to  enthu- 
siasm. 

When  he  landed  in  France  from  Egypt, 
Josephine,  foreseeing  a  storm,  started  out 
to  meet  him  at  Lyons.  Unfortunately  she 
took  one  road  and  Napoleon  another,  and 
when  he  reached  Paris  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning  he  found  no  one  at  home.  When 
Josephine  arrived  Napoleon  refused  to  see 
her,  and  it  was  three  days  before  he  re- 
lented. Then  his  forgiveness  was  due  to 


the  intercession  of  Hortense  and  Eugene, 
to  both  of  whom  he  was  warmly  attached. 
But  if  he  consented  to  pardon,  he  could 
never  give  again  the  passionate  affection 
which  he  once  had  felt  for  her.  He  ceased 
to  be  a  lover,  and  became  a  commonplace, 
tolerant,  indulgerit,  bourgeois  husband, 
upon  whom  his  wife,  in  matters  of  impor- 
tance, had  no  influence.  Josephine  was 
hereafter  the  suppliant, 'but  she  never  re- 
gained the  noble  kiagdom  she  had  despised. 

RETURN    OF    PEACE. 

Napoleon's  domestic  sorrow  weakened 
in  no  way  his  activity  and  vigor  in  public 
affairs. 

He  realized  that,  if  he  would  keep  his 
place  in  the  hearts  and  confidence  of  the 
people,  he  must  do  something  to  show  his 
strength,  and  peace  was  the  gift  he  pro- 
posed to  make  to  the  nation. 

When  he  returned  he  found  a  civil  war 
raging  in  La  Vendee.  Before  February  he 
had  ended  it.  All  over  France  brigandage 
had  made  life  and  property  uncertain.  It 
was  stopped  by  his  new  regime. 

Two  foreign  enemies  only  remained  at 
war  with  France — Austria  and  England. 
He  offered  them  peace.  It  was  refused. 
Nothing  remained  but  to  compel  it.  The 
Austrians  were  first  engaged.  They  had 
two  armies  in  the  field  ;  one  on  the  Rhine, 
against  which  Moreau  was  sent,  the  other 
in  Italy — now  lost  to  France — besieging  the 
French  shut  up  in  Genoa. 

Moreau  conducted  the  campaign  in  the 
Rhine  countries  with  skill,  fighting  two 
successful  battles,  and  driving  his  opponent 
from  Ulm. 

Napoleon  decided  that  he  would  him- 
self carry  on  the  Italian  campaign,  but  of 
that  he  said  nothing  in  Paris.  His  army 
was  quietly  brought  together  as  a  reserve 
force  ;  then  suddenly,  on  May  6,  1800,  he 


left  Paris  for  Geneva.  Immediately  his 
plan  became  evident.  It  was  nothing  else 
than  to  cross  the  Alps  and  fall  upon  the 
rear  of  the  Austrians,  then  besieging  Genoa. 

Such  an  undertaking^was  a  veritable  coup 
de  theatre.  Its  accomplishment  was  not 
less  brilliant  than  its  conception.  Three 
principal  passes  lead  from  Switzerland  ipto 
Italy  :  Mont  Cenis,  the  Great  Saint  Ber- 
nard, and  the  Mount  Saint  Gothard.  The 
last  was  already  held  by  the  Austrians. 
The  first  is  the  westernmost,  and  here  Na- 
poleon directed  the  attention  of  General 
Melas,  the  Austrian  commander.  The  cen- 
tral, or  Mount  Saint  Bernard,  Pass  was  left 
almost  defenceless,  and  here  the  French 
army  was  led  across,  a  passage  surrounded 
by  enormous  difficulties,  particularly  for 
the  artillery,  which  had  to  be  taken  to 
pieces  and  carried  or  dragged  by  the  men. 

Save  the  delay  which  the  enemy  caused 
the  French  at  Fort  Bard,  where  five  hun- 
dred men  stopped  the  entire  army,  Napo- 
leon met  with  no  serious  resistance  in  en- 
tering Italy.  Indeed,  the  Austrians  treated 
the  force  with  contempt,  declaring  that  it 
was  not  the  First  Consul  who  led  it,  but 
an  adventurer,  and  that  the  army  was  not 
made  up  of  French,  but  of  refugee  Italians. 

This  rumor  was  soon  known. to  be  false. 
On  June  2d  Napoleon  entered  Milan.  It 
was  evident  that  a  conflict  was  imminent, 
and  to  prepare  his  soldiers  Bonaparte  ad- 
dressed them  : 


"  Soldiers,  one  of  our  departments  was  in  the 
power  of  the  enemy  ;  consternation  was  in  the  south 
of  France  ;  the  greatest  part  of  the  Ligurian  terri- 
tory, the  most  faithful  friends  of  the  Republic,  had 
been  invaded.  The  Cisalpine  Republic  had  again 
become  the  grotesque  plaything  of  the  feudal  regime. 
Soldiers,  you  march, — and  already  the  French  terri- 
tory is  delivered  !  Joy  and  hope  have  succeeded  in 
your  country  to  consternation  and  fear. 

"  You  give  back  liberty  and  independence  to  the 
people  of  Genoa.  You  have  delivered  them  from 
their  eternal  enemies.  You  are  in  the  capital  of  the 


JVN01. 

Cisalpine.  The  enemy,  terrified,  no  longer  hopes  for 
anything,  except  to  regain  its  frontiers.  You  have 
taken  possession  of  its  hospitals,  its  magazines,  its 
resources. 

"The  first  act  of  the  campaign  is  terminated. 
Every  day  you  hear  millions  of  men  thanking  you  for 
your  deeds. 

"But  shall  it  be  said  that  French  territory  has 
been  violated  with  impunity?  Shall  we  allow  an 
army  which  has  carried  fear  into  our  families  to 
return  to  its  firesides  ?  Will  you  run  with  your 
arms  ?  Very  well,  march  to  the  battle  ;  forbid  their 
retreat ;  tear  from  them  the  laurels  of  which  they 
have  taken  possession  ;  and  so  teach  the  world  that 
the  curse  of  destiny  is  on  the  rash  who  dare  insult 
the  territory  of  the  Great  People.  The  result  of  all 
our  efforts  will  be  spotless  glory,  solid  peace." 

Melas,  the  Austrian  commander,  had  lost 
much  time ;  but  finally  convinced  that  it  was 
really  Bonaparte  who  had  invaded  Italy, 
and  that  he  had  actually  reached  Milan, 
he  advanced  into  the  plain  of  Marengo. 
He  had  with  him  an  army  of  from  fifty 
to  sixty  thousand  men  well  supplied  with 
artillery. 

Bonaparte,  ignorant  that  so  large  a  force 
was  at  Marengo,  advanced  into  the  plain 
with  only  a  portion  of  his  army.  On  June 
i4th  Melas  attacked  him.  Before  noon  the 
French  saw  that  they  had  to  do  with  the 
entire  Austrian  army.  For  hours  the  battle 
was  waged  furiously,  but  with  constant  loss 
on  the  side  of  the,  French.  In  spite  of  the 
most  intrepid  fighting  the  army  gave  way. 
"At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,"  says 
a  soldier  who  was  present,  "there  remained 
in  a  radius  of  two  leagues  not  over  six 
thousand  infantry, .a  thousand  horse,  and 
six  pieces  of  cannon.  A  third  of  our  army 
was  not  in  condition  for  battle.  The  lack 
of  carriages  to  transport  the  sick  made 
another  third  necessary  for  this  painful  task. 
Hunger,  thirst,  fatigue,  had  forced  a  great 
number  to  withdraw.  The  sharp-shooters 
for  the  most  part  had  lost  the  direction  of 
their  regiments. 

"  He  who  in  these  frightful  circumstances 


i. 


would  have  said,  'In  two  hours  we  shall 
have  gained  the  battle,  made  ten  thousand 
prisoners,  taken  several  generals,  fifteen 
flags,  forty  cannons  ;  the  enemy  shall  have 
delivered  to  us  eleven  fortified  places  and 
all  the  territory  of  beautiful  Italy  ;  they  will 
soon  defile  shamefaced  before  our  ranks  ; 
an  armistice  will  suspend  the  plague  of  war 
and  bring  back  peace  into  our  country,'— 
he,  I  say,  who  would  have  said  that,  would 
have  seemed  to  insult  our  desperate  situa- 
tion." 

The  battle  was  won  finally  by  the  French, 
through  the  fortunate  arrival  of  Desaix 
with  reinforcements  and  the  imperturbable 
courage  of  the  commander-in-chief.  Bona- 
parte's coolness  was  the  marvel  of  those 
who  surrounded  him. 

"At  the  moment  when  the  dead  and  the 
dying  covered  the  earth,  the  Consul  was 
constantly  braving  death.  He  gave  his 
orders  with  his  accustomed  coolness,  and 
saw  the  storm  approach  without  seeming 
to  fear  it.  Those  who  saw  him,  forgetting 
the  danger  that  menaced  them,  said  : '  What 
if  he  should  be  killed?  Why  does  he  not 
go  back?'  It  is  said  that  General  Berthier 
begged  him  to  do  so. 

"Once  General  Berthier  came  to  him  to 
tell  him  that  the  army  was  giving  way  and 
that  the  retreat  had  commenced.  Bona- 
parte said  to  him :  '  General,  you  do  not 
tell  me  that  with  sufficient  coolness.'  This 
greatness  of  soul,  this  firmness,  did  not 
leave  him  in  the  greatest  dangers.  When 
the  Fifty-ninth  Brigade  reached  the  bat- 
tle-field the  action  was  the  hottest.  The 
First  Consul  advanced  toward  them  and 
cried:  'Come,  my  brave  soldiers,  spread 
your  banners ;  the  moment  has  come  to 
distinguish  yourselves.  I  count  on  your 
courage  to  avenge  your  comrades.'  At  the 
moment  that  he  pronounced  these  words, 
five  men  were  struck  down  near  him. 
He  turned  with  a  tranquil  air  towards  the 


NAPOLEON    AT   THE    BATTLE    OF   THE    PYRAMIDS,  Jl'LV   21,    1798. 

Engraved  by  Vallot  in  1838.  after  painting  by  Gros  (1810).  The  moment  chosen  by  the  artist  is  that  when  Napoleon 
addressed  to  his  soldiers  that  short  and  famous  harangue,  "Soldiers,  from  the  summit  of  these  Pyramids  forty  cen- 
turies look  down  upon  you."  In  the  General's  escort  are  Murat,  his  head  bare  and  his  sword  clasped  tightly  :  and 
after  him.  in  order,  Duroc.  Sulkowski,  Berthier.  Junot.  and  Eugfene  de  Beauharnais,  then  sub-lieutenant,  all  on  horse- 
back. On  the  right  are  Rampon,  Desaix,  Bertrand.  and  Lasalle.  This  picture  was  ordered  for  the  Tuileries,  and 
was  exhibited  first  in  1810.  Napoleon  gave  it  to  one  of  his  generals,  and  it  did  not  reappear  in  Paris  until  1832.  It  is 
now  in  the  gallery  at  Versailles.  Gros  regarded  this  picture  as  his  best  work,  and  himself  chose  Vallot  to  engrave  it. 


FRANCE  AT  PEACE. 


enemy,    and    said:    'Come,    my    friends, 
charge  them.' 

"I  had  curiosity  enough  to  listen  atten- 
tively to  his  voice,  to  examine  his  features. 


The  Parisians  were  dazzled  by  the  cam- 
paign. Of  the  passage  of  the  Alps  they 
said,  "  It  is  an  achievement  greater  than 
Hannibal's  ; "  and  they  repeated  how 


The  most   courageous   man,  the  hero  the    "the  First  Consul  had  pointed  his  finger  at 
most  eager  for  glory,  might  have  been  over-    the  frozen  summits,  and  they  had  bowed 


come  in  his  situation  without  anyone  blam- 
ing him.  But  he  was  not.  In  these  fright- 
ful moments,  when  fortune  seemed  to  desert 
him,  he  was  still  the  Bonaparte  of  Arcola 
and  Aboukir." 

When  Desaix  came  up  with  his  division, 
Bonaparte  took 
an  hour  to  ar- 
range for  the 
final  charge. 
During  this 
time  the  Aus- 
trian artillery 
was  thundering 
upon  the  army, 
each  volley  car- 
ry i  n  g  away 
whole  lines. 
The  men  re- 
ceived death 
without  mo 
ing  from  the. 
places,  and  the 
ranks  closed 
over  the  bodies 
of  their  com- 
rades. This 
deadly  artillery 
even  reached 
the  cavalry, 
drawn  up  be- 
hind, as  well  as 
a  large  number 
of  infantry 
who,  encour- 
aged by  De- 
saix's  arrival, 
had  hastened 


MEDALLION    OF 


back    to    the 

field  of  honor. 

In  spite  of  the 

horror   of    this 

preparation 

Bonaparte  did   not   falter.     When  he  was 

ready   he   led   his  army  in    an    impetuous 

charge  which  overwhelmed  the  Austrians 

completely,  though  it  cost  the  French  one 

of  their  bravest  generals,  Desaix.     It  was 

a  frightful  struggle,  but  the  perfection  with 

which  the  final  attack  was  planned,  won  the 

battle  of  Marengo  and  drove  the  Austrians 

from  Italy. 


their  heads." 

At  the  news  of  Marengo  the  streets  were 

lit  with  "  joy  fires,"  and  from  wall  to  wall 

rang  the  cries  of  Vive  la  republique  !  Vive  le 

premier  consul !    Vive  /'arme'e  ! 

The  campaign  against  the  Austrians  was 

finished  De- 
cember .3,  1800, 
by  the  battle  of 
Ho  hen  linden, 
won  by  Mo- 
reau,  and  in 
February  the 
treaty  of  Lune- 
v i  1 1  e  estab- 
lished peace. 
England  was 
slower  in  com- 
ing to  terms,  it 
not  being  until 
March,  1802, 
that  she  signed 
the  treaty  of 
Amiens. 

At  last 
France  was  at 
peace  with  all 
the  world.  She 
hailed  Napo- 
leon as  h  e  r 
savior,  and  or- 
dered that  the 
iSth  Brumaire 
be  celebrated 
throughout  the 
republic  as  a 
solemn  fete  in 
his  honor. 
The  country 


The  following  inscription,  written  in  French,  by  Dutertre,  the 
official  painter  of  the  principal  personages  in  the  Egyptian  expedi- 
tion, appears  on  the  reverse  side  of  this  medallion,  which  frames  one 
of  the  most  precious  gems  of  Napoleonic  iconography.  "  I.  Dutertre, 
made  this  drawing  of  the  general  in-chief  from  nature,  on  board  the 
vessel  '  L'Orient.'  during  the  crossing  of  the  expedition  to  Egypt  in 
the  year  VII.  (sic)  of  the  Republic."  A  short  time  ago  the  drawing 
came  into  the  possession  of  the  Versailles  Museum. 


saw  in  him 
something 
greater  than  a 
peacemaker. 
She  was  discovering  that  he  was  to  be  her 
lawgiver,  for,  while  ending  the  wars,  he  had 
begun  to  bring  order  into  the  interior 
chaos  which  had  so  long  tormented  the 
French  people,  to  reestablish  the  finances, 
the  laws,  the  industries,  to  restore  public 
works,  to  encourage  the  arts  and  sciences, 
even  to  harmonize  the  interests  of  rich  and 
poor,  of  church  and  state. 


Pencil  sketch  by  Baron  Gros.  Collection  of  Baron  Larrey.  This  is  a  sketch  cf  the  highest  artistic  and  historical 
value.  It  has  never  before  been  published,  and  I  owe  the  right  of  reproduction  to  the  great  kindness  of  Baron 
Larrey,  ex-military-surgeon  to  Napoleon  III.,  and  son  of  Baron  Larrey,  surgeon-in-chief  to  the  armies  of  Napoleon  I. 
This  drawing  was  presented  to  Baron  Larrey  by  Gros  himself.  It  was  the  first  sketch,  the  germ,  of  the  famous  picture 
in  the  Louvre,  also  reproduced  here.  It  seems  that  Baron  Gros  greatly  modified  his  first  design  at  the  request  of 
Denon,  superintendent  of  the  Beaux-Arts,  who  thought  the  picture  too  realistic,  although  heroic  in  idea  and  true  to 
history.  Thus  it  happened  that  in  the  final  design  Bonaparte  is  represented  as  merely  touching-  with  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  the  tumor  of  one  of  the  plague-stricken,  while  in  the  original  drawing  (here  reproduced)  he  clasps  the  body  of 
an  unfortunate  victim  in  his  arms  with  a  movement  of  rare  energy.  I  cannot  help  regretting  that  the  great  painter 
should  have  felt  obliged  to  yield  to  the  counsels  and  entreaties  of  Denon. — A.  D. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


NAPOLEON  AS  STATESMAN  AND  LAWGIVER.— THE  FINANCES.— THE  1NDUSTRIES.- 

THE    PUBLIC   WORKS. 


THE    NEW    CONSTITUTION. 

"  Now  we  must  rebuild,  and,  moreover, 
we  must  rebuild  solidly,"  said  Napoleon  to 
his  brother  Lucien  the  day  after  the  coup 
a  Mat  which  had  overthrown  the  Directory 
and  made  him  the  temporary  Dictator  of 
France. 

The  first  necessity  was  a  new  constitu- 
tion. In  ten  years  three  constitutions  had 
been  framed  and  adopted,  and  now  the 
third  had,  like  its  predecessors,  been  de- 
clared worthless.  At  Napoleon's  side  was 
a  man  who  had  the  draft  of  a  constitution 
ready  in  his  pocket.  It  had  been  promised 


him  that,  if  he  would  aid  in  the  i8th  Bru- 
maire,  this  instrument  should  be  adopted. 
This  man  was  the  Abbe  Sieyes.  He  had 
been  a  prominent  member  of  the  Ccristit- 
uent  Assembly,  but,  curiously  enough,  his 
fame  there  had  been  founded  more  on  his 
silence  and  the  air  of  mystery  in  which  he 
enveloped  himself  than  on  anything  he  had 
done.  The  superstitious  veneration  which 
he  had  won,  saved  him  even  during  the 
Terror,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  say 
laconically,  when  asked  what  he  did  in 
that  period,  "I  lived." 

It    was   he    who,    when    Napoleon    was 
still  in  Egypt,  had  seen  the  necessity  of 


*  a 


g  131 

:•  let 


O         « 


KLfiBER,    1753   OR   1754-1800. 

Engraved  by  G.  Fiesinger,  after  portrait  by  Gue'rin.  Jean-Baptist  Kleber  was  born  at  Striiiburg  i.ii 
1754  (?).  The  son  of  a  mason,  he  studied  architecture  for  a  time,  but  abandoned  it  to  enter  the  military 
school  of  Munich,  from  which  he  went  into  the  Austrian  army.  In  1783  he  left  the  army  to  return  to  archi- 
tecture. In  1792  he  joined  the  revolutionary  army,  and  served  first  on  the  Rhine,  later  in  the  Vendee,, 
where  he  distinguished  himself.  Made  general  of  division  in  the  army  of  the  North,  Kleber  won  laurels, 
at  Fleurus,  Mons,  Louvain,  and  Maastricht,  and  in  the  campaign  of  1796.  He  was  appointed  commander- 
in-chief  temporarily,  but  was  recalled  when  about  to  enter  Frankfort  in  1797,  the  command  being  given  to- 
Hoche.  Disappointed,  he  resigned  from  the  army.  When  Napoleon  went  to  Egypt,  he  asked  for  Kleber. 
In  all  the  battles  of  the  campaign  he  showed  his  bravery  and  skill ;  and  when  Napoleon  left  for  France  he 
transferred  his  command  to  him.  The  situation  of  the  French  army  in  Egypt  soon  became  desperate, 
and  Kleber  was  trying  to  negotiate  with  the  English  and  Turks  an  honorable  retirement,  when  Admiral 
Keith  ordered  him  to  give  up  his  army  as  prisoners  of  war.  Kleber  published  the  letter  in  the  army,  with 
the  words,  "  Soldiers,  such  insolence  can  be  answered  but  by  victories  ;  prepare  for  combat."  At  Heli- 
opolis,  with  eight  thousand  men,  he  met  the  Grand  Vizir  with  eighty  thousand,  and  completely  conquered 
him.  Soon  after  he  put  down  a  revolt  in  Cairo,  and  was  beginning  to  reconquer  and  reorganize  the: 
country  when  he  was  assassinated,  June  14. 1800. 


"  BUONAPARTE." 


Fiesinger  engraver,  after  Guerin.  Published  "  29  Vende'tniaire,  1'an  VII."  (1799.)  It:  Dt  this  portrait  that  Taine 
writes  :  '•  Look  now  at  this  portrait  by  GueVin,  this  lean  body,  these  narrow  shoulders  in  their  uniform  creased  by  his 
brusque  motions,  this  neck  enveloped  in  a  high  wrinkled  cravat,  these  temples  concealed  by  long  hair  falling  straight 
over  them,  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  face  ;  these  hard  features  made  prominent  by  strong  contrasts  of  light  and  shade  ; 
these  cheeks  as  hollow  as  the  interior  angle  of  the  eye  ;  these  prominent  cheek-bones  ;  this  massive  protruding  chin  ; 
these  curving,  mobile,  attentive  lips  :  these  great,  clear  eyes  deeply  set  under  the  overarching  eyebrows  ;  this  fixed,  in- 
comprehensible look,  sharp  as  a  sword  ;  these  two  straight  wrinkles  which  cross  the  forehead  from  the  base  of  the 
nose  like  a  furrow  of  continual  anger  and  inflexible  will." 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


head  which  crowned 
the  edifice  was  called, 
did  nothing  but  live  at 
Versailles  and  draw  a 
princely  salary. 

Napoleon  saw  at 
once  the  weak  points  of 
the  structure,  but  he 
saw  how  it  could  be  re- 
arranged to  serve  a  dic- 
tator. He  demanded 
that  the  Senate  be 
stripped  of  its  power, 
and  that  the  Grand 
Elector  be  replaced  by 
a  First  Consul,  to  whom 
the  executive  force 
should  be  confided. 
Sieyes  consented,  and 
Napoleon  was  named 
-First  Consul. 

The  whole  machin- 
ery of  the  government 
was  now  centred  in  one 
man.  "The  state,  it 
was  I,"  said  Napoleon 
at  St.  Helena.  The 
new  constitution  was 
founded  on  principles 
the  very  opposite  of 
those  for  which  the 
Revolution  had  been 
made,  but  it  was  the 
only  hope  there  was  of 
dragging  France  from 
the  slough  of  anarchy 
and  despair  into  which 
she  had  fallen. 

Napoleon  undertook 
the  work  of  reconstruc- 
tion which  awaited 
him,  with  courage, 
energy,  and  amazing 

a  military  dictatorship,  and  had  urged  the  audacity.  He  was  forced  to  deal  at  once 
Directory  to  order  Napoleon  home  to  help  with  all  departments  of  the  nation's  life — 
him  reorganize  the  government — an  order  with  the  finances,  the  industries,  the  emigres, 
which  was  never  received.  the  Church,  public  education,  the  codifica- 

Soon    after   the    i8th    Brumaire,  Sieyes    tion  of  the  laws, 
presented  his  constitution.     No  more  bun- 
gling and  bizarre  instrument  for  conducting 
the  affairs  of  a  nation  was  ever  devised. 
Warned  by  the  experience  of  the  past  ten 


"  I.UC1EN    BONAl'ARTE,    PRESIDENT   OF   THE   COUNCIL   OF   THE    KIVE    KINDRED, 
iSl'H    BRUMAIRE,    1799.'" 

Lucien  Bonaparte,  born  at  Ajaccio,  March  21,  1775,  was  educated  in  France,  and 
returned  to  Corsica  in  1792.  Ardent  revolutionist,  he  abandoned  Paoli,  and  left  Corsica 
for  France.  Obtaining  a  place  at  Saint  Maximin,  he  became  prominent  as  an  agitator. 
Here  he  married  Christine  Boyer,  his  landlord's  daughter.  In  1795  Lucien  left  Saint 
Maximin,  and  soon  after  was  made  commissary  to  the  Army  of  the  North,  but  resigned 
the  next  year.  The  two  years  following  he  passed  in  Corsica,  but  went  to  Paris  in 
1798,  on  being  elected  deputy  to  the  Council  of  Five  Hundred.  He  soon  became 
prominent  as  a  speaker,  and  his  house  was  a  centre  for  the  best  literary  society  of  the 
capital.  He  was  made  president  of  the  Council  of  Five  Hundred  after  Napoleon's 
return  from  Egypt,  and  aided  in  the  coup  d'etat  of  the  i8th  Brumaire.  In  the  reor- 
ganization of  the  government  Lucien  was  named  Minister  of  the  Interior,  but  he  and 
Napoleon  did  not  get  on  well,  and  he  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  Spain.  Returning, 
he  took  an  active  part  in  the  delicate  work  of  the  Concordat  and  Legion  of  Honor. 
Lucien  was  made  senator  after  the  Consulate  for  life  was  arranged,  but  he  made  a 
second  marriage  which  displeased  Napoleon.  He  left  France,  settling  in  Rome. 


THE    FINANCES. 


The   first   question   was  one  of  money. 


years,  he  abandoned  the  ideas  of  1789,  and  The  country  was  literally  bankrupt  in 
declared  that  the  power  must  come  from  1799.  The  treasury  was  empty,  and  the 
above,  the  confidence  from  below.  His  government  practised  all  sorts  of  make- 
system  of  voting  took  the  suffrage  from  shifts  to  get  money  to  pay  those  bills  which 
the  people  ;  his  legislative  body  was  com-  could  not  be  put  off.  One  day,  having  to 
posed  of  three  sections,  each  of  which  was  send  out  a  special  courier,  it  was  obliged 
practically  powerless.  All  the  force  of  the  to  give  him  the  receipts  or  the  opera  to  pay 
government  was  centred  in  a  senate  of  aged  his  expenses.  And,  again,  it  was  in  such 
men.  The  Grand  Elector,  as  the  figure-  a  tight  pinch  that  it  was  on  the  poipf  of 


NAPOLEON  AND   GAUDIN. 


sending  the  gold  coin  in  the  Cabinet  of 
Medals  to  the  mint  to  be  melted.  Loans 
could  not  be  negotiated ;  government 
paper  was  worthless  ;  stocks  were  down 
to  the  lowest.  One  of  the  worst  features 
of  the  situation  was  the  condition  of  the 
taxes.  The  assessments  were  as  arbitrary 
as  before  the  Revolution,  and  they  were 
collected  with  greater  difficulty. 

To  select  an  honest,  capable,  and  well- 


57 

known  financier  was  Napoleon's  first  act. 
The  choice  he  made  was  wise — a  Monsieur 
Gaudin,  afterward  the  Duke  de  Gae'te,  a 
quiet  man,  who  had  the  confidence  of  the 
people.  Under  his  management  credit  was 
restored,  the  government  was  able  to  make 
the  loans  necessary,  and  the  department 
of  finance  was  reorganized  in  a  thorough 
fashion. 

Napoleon's  gratitude  to  Monsieur  Gaudin 


GENERAL    BONAPARTE    AT   THE    C<">rNCIL   OF   THE    FIVE    HUNDRED    AT   SAINT-CLOUD,    NOVEMBER    IO,    1799    (igTH    BRUMAIRE). 

By  Fran£ois  Bouchot.  On  the  ioth  of  November  the  Anciens  assembled  in  the  gallery  of  the  chateau,  and  the  Five 
Hundred  in  the  orangery.  Bonaparte  presented  himself  first  at  the  bar  of  the  A  nczens,  and  then  betook  himself  to  the 
Council  of  Five  Hundred,  presided  over  by  his  brother  Lucien.  He  entered  with  bared  head,  accompanied  by  only  four 
grenadiers.  Hardly  had  he  crossed  the  threshold  when  cries  of  "  hors  de  loi"  were  heard.  In  vain  he  tried  to  speak  ;  his 
bitterest  enemies  advanced  against  him  with  clinched  fists  and  threatening  looks,  and  covered  him  with  insults.  The 
grenadiers  whom  he  had  left  at  the  door  ran  up,  and,  thrusting  aside  the  deputies,  seized  him  by  the  middle.  Lucien 
quitted  the  chair,  and  coming  to  the  side  of  his  brother  pronounced  the  dissolution  of  the  Assembly.  Soon  after,  the  battal- 
ion of  grenadiers,  with  fixed  bayonets,  advanced  along  the  full  width  of  the  orangery,  and  so  dispersed  the  deputies.  Such 
was  the  famous  scene  which  Bouchot  has  represented  with  conscientious  regard  for  history  in  this  superb  canvas,  now  in 
the  Versailles  gallery.— A.  D. 


58  THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 

was  lasting.     Once  when  asked  to  change  nothing  but  fresh  water,  whilst  with   my 

him  for  a  more  brilliant  man,  he  said  :  good  Gaudin  1  can  always  rely  on  having 

"  I   fully   acknowledge    all  your  protigi!  good  crown  pieces." 

is  worth  ;  but  it  might  easily  happen  that,  The  famous  Bank  of  France  dates  from 

with  all  his  intelligence,  he  would  give  me  this  time.     It  was   founded   under  Napo- 


"  INSTALLATION    OF   THE   COUNCIL   OF    STATE    AT   THE    PALACE   OF   THE    PETIT    I.r.XEMBOl'KG,  DECEMBER   29,  1799. 

Dy  Auguste  Conder.  The  Councillors  of  State  having  assembled  in  the  hall  which  had  been  arranged  for  ;he 
occasion,  the  First  Consul  opened  the  seance  and  heard  the  oath  taken  by  the  sectional  presidents — Boulay  de  la 
Meurthe  (legislation),  Brune  (war),  Deferment  (finances),  Ganteaume  (marine),  Roederer  (interior).  The  First  Consul 
drew  up  and  signed  two  proclamations,  to  the  French  people  and  to  the  army.  The  Second  Consul,  Cambac^res,  and 
the  Third  Consul,  Lebrun,  were  present  at  the  meeting.  Locre,  secretaire-general  du  Conseil  d^Etat,  conducted  the 
f  races-verbal.  This  picture  is  at  Versailles. 


REFORM  OF    THE    TAXES. 


59 


Icon's   personal    direction,    and    he   never  A  great  improvement  was  that  the  taxes 

ceased  to  watch  over  it  jealously.  became  fixed  and  regular.  Napoleon  wished 

Most  important  of  all  the  financial  meas-  that  each  man- should  know  what  he  had 

ures  was  the  reorganization  of  the  system  to  pay  out  each  year.     "  True  civil  liberty 

of   taxation.     The    First    Consul    insisted  depends  on  the  safety  of  property,"  he  told 

that  the   taxes   must  meet  the  whole  ex-  his  Council  of  State.     "  There  is  none  in  a 

pense  of  the  nation,  save  war,  which  must  country    where   the   rate    of    taxation    is 

pay  for  itself ;  and  he  so  ordered  affairs  changed  every  year.    A  man  who  has  three 

that    never    after    his   administration    was  thousand  francs  income  does  not  know  how 

fairly  begun  was  a  deficit  known  or  a  loan  much  he  will  have  to  live  on  the  next  year, 

made.     This  was    done,  too,  without   the  His  whole  substance  may  be  swallowed  up 

people  feeling  the  burden  of  taxation.     In-  by  the  taxes." 

deed,    that   burden    was   so    much  lighter  Nearly  the  whole  revenue  came  from  in- 

under  his  administration  than  it  had  been  direct  taxes  applied  to  a  great  number  of 

under  the   old    regime,  that    peasant   and  articles.     In  case  of  a  war  which  did  not 
workman,  in   most 


cases,  probably  did 
not  know  they  were 
being  taxed. 

"  Before  1789," 
says  Taine,  "  out  of 
one  hundred  francs 
of  net  revenue,  the 
workman  gave 
fourteen  to  his 
seignor,  fourteen 
to  the  clergy,  fifty- 
three  to  the  state, 
and  kept  only  eigh- 
teen ornineteen  for 
himself.  Since 
1800,  from  one  hun- 
dred francs  income 
he  pays  nothing  to 
the  seignor  or  the 
Church,  and  he 
pays  to  the  state, 
the  depart  me  nt, 
and  the  commune 
but  twenty-one 
francs,  leaving 
seventy-nine  in  his 
pocket."  And  such 
was  the  method  and 
care  with  which 
this  system  was 
administered,  that  the  state  received  more 


BONAPARTE,    K1RST   CONSUL. 

One  of  the  best  portraits  of  the  First  Consul— the  truest 
of  all,  perhaps.  Unlike  Bouillon,  Van  Bree,  Geliotte,  Isabey, 
Boilly  painted  him  in  his  real  aspect,  without  any  striving  after 
the  ideal.  This  is  really  the  determined  little  Corsican,  tor- 
mented by  ambition  and  a  thirst  for  conquest.  This  fine  por- 
trait has  been  admirably  etched  by  Duplessis-Bertaux.— A.  D. 


wine. 


pay  its  way,  Napo- 
leon proposed  to 
raise  each  of  these 
a  few  centimes. 
The  nation  would 
surely  prefer  this, 
to  paying  it  to  the 
Russians  or  Aus- 
trians.  When  pos- 
sible the  taxes  were 
reduced.  "  Better 
leave  the  money  in 
the  hands  of  the 
citizens  than  lock 
it  up  in  a  cellar,  as 
they  do  in  Prussia." 
He  was  cautious 
that  extra  taxes 
should  not  come  on 
the  very  poor,  if  it 
could  be  avoided. 
A  suggestion  to 
charge  the  vege- 
table and  fish  sell- 
ers for  their  stalls 
came  before  him. 
"The  public 
square,  like  water, 
ought  to  be  free. 
It  is  quite  enough 
that  we  tax  salt  and 
It  would  become  the  city 


than  twice  as  much  as  it  had  before.     The  of  Paris  much  more  to  think  of  restoring 

enormous  sums  which  the  police  and  tax-  the  corn  market." 

collectors  had  appropriated  now  went  to  An  important  part  of  his  financial  policy 

the   state.       Here  is  but  one  example  of  was  the  rigid  economy  which  was  insisted 

numbers  which  show  how  minutely  Napo-  on    in    all    departments.     If   a    thing  was 

Icon  guarded  this  part  of  the  finances.     It  bought,  it  must  be  worth  what  was  paid 

is  found  in  a  letter  to  Fouch£,  the  chief  of  for  it.      If  a  man  held  a  position,  he  must 

police  :  do  its  duties.     Neither  purchases  norposi- 

"  What  happens  at  Bordeaux  happens  at  Turin,  at  tions  could  be  made  unless  reasonable  and 

Spa,  at  Marseilles,  etc.     The  police  commissioners  useful.      This  was   in   direct   opposition   to 

derive  immense  profits  from  the  gaming-tables.     My  the    old   regime,   of   which    waste,    idleness, 

intention  is  that  the  towns  shall  reap  the  benefit  of  d  parasites  were  the  chief  characteristics, 

the  tables.     I  shall  employ  the  two  hundred  thousand  „,              .        .                     ,. 

francs  paid  by  the  tables  of  Bordeaux  in  building  a  Tne  saving  in  expenditure  was  almost  m- 

bridge  or  a  canal.    .    .    ."  credible.     Atrip  to  Fontainebteau,  which 


6o 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


cost  Louis  XVI.  four  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  Napoleon  would  make,  in  no  less 
state,  for  thirty  thousand  dollars. 

.The  expenses  of  the  civil  household, 
which  amounted  to  five  million  dollars 
under  the  old  regime,  were  now  cut  down 
to  six  hundred  thousand  dollars,  though 
the  elegance  was  no  less. 

THE    INDUSTRIES. 

A  master  who  gave  such  strict  attention 
to  the  prosperity  of  his  kingdom  would  not, 
of  course,  overlook  its  industries.  In  fact, 
they  were  one  of  Napoleon's  chief  cares. 
His  policy  was  one  of  protection.  He 
would  have  France  make  everything  she 
wanted,  and  sell  to  her  neighbors,  but 
never  buy  from  them.  To  stimulate  the 
manufactories,  which  in  1799  were  as  nearly 
bankrupt  as  the  public  treasury,  he  visited 
the  factories  himself  to  learn  their  needs, 
He  gave  liberal  orders,  and  urged,  even 
commanded,  his  associates  to  do  the  same. 
At  one  time,  anxious  to  aid  the  batiste 
factories  of  Flanders,  he  tried  to  force 
Josephine  to  give  up  cotton  goods  and  to 
set  the  fashion  in  favor  of  the  batistes  ; 
but  she  made  such  an  outcry  that  he  was 
obliged  to  abandon  the  idea.  For  the  same 
reason  he  wrote  to  his  sister  Eliza  :  "  I  beg 
that  you  will  allow  your  court  to  wear 
nothing  but  silks  and  cambrics,  and  that 
you  will  exclude  all  cottons  and  muslins, 
in  order  to  favor  French  industry." 

Frequently  he  would  take  goods  on  con- 
signment, to  help  a  struggling  factory. 
Rather  than  allow  a  manufactory  to  be 
idle,  he  would  advance  a  large  sum  of 
money,  and  a  quantity  of  its  products 
would  be  put  under  government  control. 
After  the  battle  of  Eylau,  Napoleon  sent 
one  million  six  hundred  thousand  francs 
to  Paris,  to  be  used  in  this  way. 

To  introduce  cotton-making  into  the 
country  was  one  of  his  chief  industrial  am- 
bitions. At  the  beginning  of  the  century 
it  was  printed  in  all  the  factories  of  France, 
but  nothing  more.  He  proposed  to  the 
Council  of  State  to  prohibit  the  importa- 
tion of  cotton  thread  and  the  woven  goods. 
There  was  a  strong  opposition,  but  he  car- 
ried his  point. 

"As  a  result,"  said  Napoleon  to  Las 
Cases  complacently, "  we  possess  the  three 
branches,  to  the  immense  advantage  of 
our  population  and  to  the  detriment  and 
sorrow  of  the  English  ;  which  proves  that, 
in  administration  as  in  war,  one  must  ex- 
ercise character.  ...  I  occupied  my- 
-sclf  no  less  in  encouraging  silks.  As 


Emperor,  and  King  of  Italy,  I  counted  one 
hundred  and  twenty  millions  of  income 
from  the  silk  harvest." 

In  a  similar  way  he  encouraged  agricul- 
ture ;  especially  was  he  anxious  that  France 
should  raise  all  her  own  articles  of  diet. 
He  had  Berthollet  look  into  maple  and  tur- 
nip sugar,  and  he  did  at  last  succeed  in 
persuading  the  people  to  use  beet  sugar  ; 
though  he  never  convinced  them  that  Swiss 
tea  equalled  Chinese,  or  that  chicory  was 
as  good  as  coffee. 

PUBLIC  WORKS. 

The  works  he  insisted  should  be  carried 
on  in  regard  to  roads  and  public  buildings 
were  of  great  importance.  There  was 
need  that  something  be  done. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  conceive,  if  one  had  not  been 
a  witness  of  it  before  and  after  the  i8th  Brumaire 
[said  the  chancellor  Pasquier],  of  the  widespread 
ruin  wrought  by  the  Revolution.  .  .  .  There 
were  hardly  two  or  three  main  roads  [in  France]  in  a 
fit  condition  for  traffic  ;  not  a  single  one  was  there, 
perhaps,  wherein  was  not  found  some  obstacle  that 
could  not  be  surmounted  without  peril.  With  regard 
to  the  ways  of  internal  communication,  they  had  been 
indefinitely  suspended.  The  navigation  of  rivers  and 
canals  was  no  longer  feasible. 

"  In  all  directions,  public  buildings,  and  those 
monuments  which  represent  the  splendor  of  the  state, 
were  falling  into  decay.  It  must  fain  be  admitted 
that  if  the  work  of  destruction  had  been  prodigious, 
that  of  restoration  was  no  less  so.  Everything  was 
taken  hold  of  at  one  and  the  same  time,  and  every- 
thing progressed  with  a  like  rapidity.  Not  only  was 
it  resolved  to  restore  all  that  required  restoring  in 
various  parts  of  the  country,  in  all  parts  of  the  public 
service,  but  new,  grand,  beautiful  and  useful  works 
were  decided  upon,  and  many  were  brought  to  a 
happy  termination.  This  certainly  constitutes  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  sides  of  the  consular  and  imperial 
regime." 

In  Paris  alone  vast  improvements  were 
made.  Napoleon  began  the  Rue  de  Rtvo- 
li,  built  the  wing  connecting  the  Tuileries 
and  the  Louvre,  erected  the  triumphal  arch 
of  the  Carrousel,  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  at 
the  head  of  the  Champs  Elyse"es,  the  Col- 
umn Vendome,  the  Madeleine,  began  the 
Bourse,  built  the  Pont  d'Austerlitz,  and 
ordered,  commenced,  or  finished,  a  number 
of  minor  works  of  great  importance  to  the 
city.  The  markets  interested  him  particu- 
larly. "  Give  all  possible  care  to  the  con- 
struction of  the  markets  and  to  their 
healthfulness,  and  to  the  beauty  of  the 
Halle-aux-bl^s  and  of  the  Halle-aux-vins. 
The  people,  too,  must  have  their  Louvre." 

The  works  undertaken  outside  of  Paris 
in  France,  and  in  the  countries  under  her 
rule  in  the  time  that  Napoleon  was  in 
power,  were  of  a  variety  and  extent  which 


PUBLIC  I  IMPROVEMENTS. 


6r 


would    be    incredible,    if 
every  traveller  in  Europe 
did  not  have  the  evidence 
of   them   still    before  his 
eyes.      The   mere    enu- 
meration of  these  works 
and  of    the   industrial 
achievements    of    Napo- 
leon, made  by  Las  Cases, 
reads   like  a   fairy  story. 
"  You  wish   to  know  the 
treasures    of    Napoleon  ? 
They  are  immense,  it  is 
true,  but  they  are  all  ex- 
posed to  light.     They  are 
the  noble  harbors  of  Ant- 
werp and  Flushing,  which 
are  capable  of  containing 
the  largest   fleets,  and  of 
protecting   them    against 
the  ice  from  the  sea  ;  the 
hydraulic  works  at  Dun- 
kirk,   Havre,    and    Nice ; 
the    immense    harbor    of 
Cherbourg  ;  the  maritime 
works   at    Venice  ;    the 
beautiful  roads  from  Ant- 
werp to  Amsterdam,  from 
Mayence  to    Metz,  from 
Bordeaux    to     Bayonne  ; 
the  passes  of  the  Simplon, 
of  Mont  Cenis,  of  Mount 
(ienevre,  of  the  Corniche, 
which  open  a  communica- 
tion through  the  Alps  in 
four  different  directions, 
and  which  exceed  in  gran- 
deur, in  boldness,  and  in 
skill  of  execution,  all  the 
works  of  the  Romans  (in 
that  alone  you  will   find  • 
eight   hundred  millions) ; 
the  roads  from  the  Pyre- 
nees   to    the    Alps,    from 
Parma    to    Spezia,    from 
Savona  to  Piedmont  ;  the 
bridges  of  Jena,  Auster- 
litz,  Des  Arts,  Sevres, 
Tours,    Roanne,     Lyons, 
Turin  ;  of  the  Isere,  of  the 
Durance,  of  Bordeaux,  of 
Rouen,  etc.;  the  canal 
which  connects  the  Rhine 
with    the    Rhone    by   the 
Doubs,  and  thus  unites  the 


North  Sea  with  the  Medi- 
terranean; the  canal  which  joins  the  Scheldt 
with  the  Somme,  and  thus  joins  Paris  and 
Amsterdam ;  the  canal  which  unites  the 
Ranee  to  the  Vilaine  ;  the  canal  of  Aries  ; 
that  of  Pavia,  and  the  canal  of  the  Rhine  ; 


MOREAU,    ABOUT 


Engraved  by  Elizabeth  G.  Berhan,  after  Gue'rin.  Moreau  (Jean- Victor)  was 
born  at  Morlaix  in  1763.  Studied  law  at  Renncs.  In  1792  entered  the  army 
of  Dumouriez.  Was  made  general  of  brigade  in  1793,  and  general  of  division 
in  1794.  Two  years  later  received  the  command  of  the  Army  of  the  Rhine  and 
Moselle,  which  he  conducte'd  with  rare  skill.  Having  seized  a  correspondence  of 
the  Prince  of  Conde"  and  Pichegru,  which  proved  the  latter  a  conspirator,  he  con- 
cealed it  out  of  friendship  for  Pichegru  until  after  the  i8th  Fructidor,  when  the  lat- 
ter was  arrested.  For  this  he  was  retired  from  service  for  eighteen  months,  but 
returned  to  the  Army  of  Italy  in  1799.  Returning  to  Paris  in  1799,  ne  first  met 
Bonaparte,  whom  he  aided  on  the  i8th  Brumaire.  Moreau,  as  a  reward  for  his 
services,  was  named  general-in-chief  of  the  Army  of  the  Rhine.  His  campaign  at 
the  head  of  his  new  army  was  brilliant,  ending  in  the  great  victory  at  Hohen- 
linden  on  December  3,  1800.  Returning  to  Paris,  he  became  the  centre  of  a  faction 
discontented  with  Bonaparte,  and  refused  the  title  of  marshal  and  the  decoration 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor  which  the  latter  offered  him.  He  was  approached  by 
agents  of  Louis  XVIII.,  and  was  supposed  to  be  connected  indirectly  with  the 
Georges  plot.  Was  arrested,  tried,  and  exiled  for  two  years.  He  retired  to  the 
United  States,  where  at  first  he  travelled  extensively.  Moreau  settled  in  this  coun- 
try, leading  a  quiet  life  until  1813,  when  he  was  invited  by  the  Emperor  Alexan- 
der to  return  to  Europe.  With  Bernadotte  he  prepared  the  plans  of  the  campaign 
of  1813  and  1814,  and  it  was  by  his  advice  that  the  allies  refused  to  give  general 
battle  to  Napoleon.  At  Dresden,  on  August  27,  1813,  he  was  mortally  wounded  :  it 
is  said,  by  a  French  bullet. 


the  draining  of  the  marshes  of  Bourgoin,  of 
the  Cotentin,  of  Rochefort  ;  the  rebuilding 
of  the  greater  part  of  the  churches  de- 
stroyed by  the  Revolution  ;  the  building 
of  others;  theinstitution  of  numerous  estab- 


62 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


lishments  of  industry  for  the  suppression 
of  mendicity  ;  the  gallery  at  the  Louvre  ; 
the  construction  of  public  warehouses,  of 
the  Bank,  of  the  canal  of  the  Ourcq  ;  the 
distribution  of  water  in  the  city  of  Paris  ; 


of  many  hundreds  of  manufactories  of 
cotton,  for  spinning  and  for  weaving,  which 
employ  several  millions  of  workmen  ;  funds 
accumulated  to  establish  upwards  of  four 
hundred  manufactories  of  sugar  from 


NAPOLEON    CROSSING   THE   GKEAT   ST.    BERNARD,    l8oo. 

Engraved  by  Francois,  after  a  picture  by  Delaroche,  painted  in  !848,  published  in  1852  by  P.  &  D. 
-  ''  The  Queen  of  England  possesses  at  Osborne  a  reduction  of  this  portrait  made 


Colnaghisco,  London, 
by  Delaroche  himself." 


the  numerous  drains,  the  quays,  the  em- 
bellishments, and  the  monuments  of  that 
large  capital ;  the  works  for  the  embellish- 
ment of  Rome ;  the  reestablishment  of 
the  manufactures  of  Lyons  ;  the  creation 


beet-root,  for  the  consumption  of  part  of 
France,  and  which  would  have  furnished 
sugar  at  the  same  price  as  the  West  Indies, 
if  they  had  continued  to  receive  encourage- 
ment for  only  four  years  longer  ;  the  sub- 


NAPOLEON   THE   GREAT   CROSSING  THE   MOUNT   ST.    BERNARD,    MAY,    l8dO. 

Engraved  by  Antonio  Gilbert  in  1809,  under  the  direction  of  Longhi,  after  portrait  painted  by  David  in  1805. 
Dedicated  to  the  Prince  Eugene  Napoleon  of  France,  Viceroy  of  Italy.  It  was  soon  after  his  return  from  Marengo 
that  Napoleon  expressed  a  wish  to  be  painted  by  David.  The  artist  had  long  desired  this  work,  and  seized  the 
opportunity  eagerly.  He  asked  the  First  Consul  when  he  would  pose  for  him. 

"  Pose  i  "  said  Bonaparte.     "  Do  you  suppose  the  great  men  of  antiquity  posed  for  their  portraits  ?  " 
"  But  I  paint  you  for  your  time,  for  men  who  have  seen  you.    They  would  like  to  have  it  like  you." 
'•Like  me!    It  is  not  the  perfection  of  the  features,  a  pimple  on  the  nose,  which  makes  resemblance.    It  is  the 
character  of  the  face  that  should  be  represented.     No  one  cares  whether  the  portraits  of  great  men  look  like  them  or 
not.    It  is  enough  that  their  genius  shines  from  the  picture." 

"  I  have  never  considered  it  in  that  way.  But  you  are  right,  Citizen  Consul.  You  need  not  pose  :  I  will  paint  you 
without  th=t."  David  went  to  breakfast  daily  after  this  with  Napoleon,  in  order  to  study  his  face,  and  the  Consul  put  at 
his  service  all  the  garments  he  had  worn  at  MarengD.  It  is  told  that  David  mounted  Napoleon  on  a  mule  for  this  picture, 
but  that  the  General  demurred.  He  sprang  upon  his  horse,  and,  making  him  rear,  said  to  the  artist,  -'  Faint  me  th«s  ** 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


stitution  of  woad  for  indigo,  which  would 
have  been  at  last  brought  to  a  state  of 
perfection  in  France,  and  obtained  as 
good  and  as  cheap  as  the  indigo  from  the 
colonies',  numerous  manufactories  for  all 
kinds  of  objects  of  art,  etc.;  fifty  millions 
expended  in  repairing  and  beautifying  the 
palaces  belonging  to  the  Crown  ;  sixty 
millions  in  furniture  for  the  palaces  belong- 
ing to  the  Crown  in  France,  in  Holland, 
at  Turin,  and  at  Rome  ;  sixty  millions 
of  diamonds  for  the  Crown,  all  purchased 
with  Napoleon's  money  ;  the  Regent  (the 
only  diamond  that  was  left  belonging  to 
the  former  diamonds  of  the  Crown)  with- 
drawn from  the  hands  of  the  Jews  at 
Berlin,  in  whose  hands  it  had  been  left  as 
a  pledge  for  three  millions.  The  Napoleon 
Museum,  valued  at  upwards  of  four  hun- 
dred millions,  filled  with  objects  legiti- 
mately acquired,  either  by  moneys  or  by 


treaties  of  peace  known  to  the  whole  world, 
by  virtue  of  which  the  chefs-axuvre  it 
contains  were  given  in  lieu  of  territory  or 
of  contributions.  Several  millions  amassed 
to  be  applied  to  the  encouragement  of 
agriculture,  which  is  the  paramount  con- 
sideration for  the  interest  of  France  ;  the 
introduction  into  France  of  merino  sheep, 
etc.  These  form  a  treasure  of  several  thou- 
sand millions  which  will  endure  for  ages." 
Napoleon  himself  looked  on  these  achieve- 
ments as  his  most  enduring  monument.  "  The 
allied  powers  cannot  take  from  me  here- 
after," he  told  O'Meara,  "the  great  public 
works  I  have  executed,  the  roads  which 
I  made  over  the  Alps,  and  the  seas  which 
I  have  united.  They  cannot  place  their 
feet  to  improve  where  mine  have  not  been 
before.  They  cannot  take  from  me  the 
code  of  laws  which  I  formed,  and  which 
will  go  down  to  posterity." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

RETURN    OF   THE    EMIGRES.— THE   CONCORDAT.— LEGION    OF    HONOR.— CODE 

NAPOLEON. 


THE    EMIGRES. 

BUT  there  were  wounds  in  the  French 
nation  more  profound  than  those  caused 
by  lack  of  credit,  by  neglect  and  corrup- 
tion. The  body  which  in  1789  made  up 
France  had,  in  the  last  ten.  years,  been 
violently  and  horribly  wrenched  asunder. 
One  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  of  the 
richest,  most  cultivated,  and  most  capable 
of  the  population  had  been  stripped  of 
wealth  and  position,  and  had  emigrated  to 
foreign  lands. 

Napoleon  saw  that  if  the  emigre's  could 
be  reconciled,  he  at  once  converted  a  pow- 
erful enemy  into  a  zealous  friend.  In  spite 
of  the  opposition  of  those  who  had  made 
the  Revolution  and  gained  their  positions 
through  it,  he  accorded  an  amnesty  to  the 
Emigre's,  which  included  the  whole  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand,  with  the  exception 
of  about  one  thousand,  and  this  number, 
it  was  arranged,  should  be  reduced  to  five 
hundred  in  the  course  of  a  year.  More, 
he  provided  for  their  wants.  Most  of  the 
smaller  properties  confiscated  by  the  Revo- 
lution had  been  sold,  and  Napoleon  insisted 
that  those  who  had  bought  them  from  the 
state  should  be  assured  of  their  tenure  ;  but 
in  case  a  property  had  not  been  disposed  of, 
he  returned  it  to  the  family,  though  rarely 


in  full.  In  case  of  forest  lands,  not  over 
three  hundred  and  seventy-five  -acres  were 
given  back.  Gifts  and  positions  were  given 
to  many  emigre's,  so  that  the  majority  were 
able  to  live  in  ease. 

A  valuable  result  of  this  policy  of  recon- 
ciliation was  the  amount  of  talent,  expe- 
rience, and  culture  which  he  gained  for 
the  government.  France  had  been  run  for 
ten  years  by  country  lawyers,  doctors,  and 
pamphleteers,  who,  though  they  boasted 
civic  virtue  and  eloquence,  and  though 
they  knew  their  Plutarchs  and  Rousseaus  by 
heart,  had  no  practical  sense,  and  little  or 
no  experience.  The  return  of  the  Emigre's 
gave  France  a  body  of  trained  diplomats, 
judges,  and  thinkers,  many  of  whom  were 
promptly  admitted  to  the  government. 

THE    CHURCH. 

More  serious  than  the  amputation  of  the 
aristocracy  had  been  that  of  the  Church. 
The  Revolution  had  torn  it  from  the  nation, 
had  confiscated  its  property,  turned  its 
cathedrals  into  barracks,  its  convents  and 
seminaries  into  town  halls  and  prisons,  sold 
its  lands,  closed  its  schools  and  hospitals.  It 
had  demanded  an  oath  of  the  clergy  which 
had  divided  the  body,  and  caused  thousands 
to  emigrate.  Not  content  with  this,  it  had 


REESTABLISHMENT  OF    THE   CATHOLIC  CHURCH. 


tried  to  supplant  the  old  religion,  first  with 
a  worship  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason,  after- 
wards with  one  of  the  Supreme  Being. 

But  the  people  still  loved  the  Catholic 
Church.      The  mass   of   them    kept    their 


65 

but 


the  decade,'2  said  a  workman  once, 
we  change  our  shirts  on  Sunday." 

Napoleon  understood  the  popular  heart, 
and  he  proposed  the  reestablishment  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  The  Revolutionists,  even 


"NAPOLEONE    BUONAPARTE,    FIRST   CONSUL   OF   FRANCE."      l8oO. 

Painted  by  Masquerier,  who  visited  Paris  in  1800.  where  he  made  a  portrait  of  Napoleon.  "  This,  on  being 
exhibited  in  England,  where  it  was  the  first  authentic  portrait  of  the  emperor,  proved  a  source  of  considerable 
gain  to  the  painter."  The  portrait  was  engraved,  soon  after  his  return  to  London,  by  C.  Turner. 


crucifixes  in  their  houses,  told  their  beads, 
observed  fast  days.  No  matter  how  severe 
a  penalty  was  attached  to  the  observance 
of  Sun'day  instead  of  the  day  which  had 
replaced  it,  called  the  "  decade,"  at  heart 
the  people  remembered  it.  "We  rest  on 


his  warmest  friends  among  the  generals, 
opposed  it.  Infidelity  was  a  cardinal  point 
in  the  creed  of  the  majority  of  the  new 
regime.  They  not  only  rejected  the  Church, 
they  ridiculed  it.  Rather  than  restore 
Catholicism,  they  advised  Protestantism. 


66 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


"But,"  declared  Napoleon,  "•  France  is  not 
Protestant  ;  she  is  Catholic." 

In  the  Council  of  State,  where  the  ques- 
tion was  argued,  he  said  :  "  My  policy  is  to 
govern  men  as  the  greatest  number  wish  to 
be  governed.  ...  I  carried  on  the  war 
of  Vendee  by  becoming  a  Catholic  ;  I  estab- 
lished myself  in  Egypt  by  becoming  a 
Mussulman  ;  I  won  over  the  priests  in  Italy 
by  becomingjUltramontane.  If  I  governed 
Jews  I  should  reestablish  the  temple  of 


Solomon, 
the  sovereignty 
of  the  people 
should  be  under- 
stood." 

Evidently  this 
was  a  very  differ- 
ent way  of  under- 
standing that 
famous  doctrine 
from  that  which 
had  been  in 
vogue,  which 
consisted  in  forc- 
ing the  people  to 
accept  what  each 
idealist  thought 
was  best,  without 
consulting  their 
prejudices  or 
feelings.  In 
spite  of  opposi- 
tion, Napoleon's 
will  prevailed, 
and  in  the  spring 
of  1802  the  Con- 
cordat  was 
signed.  This 
treaty  between 
the  Pope  and 
France  is  still  in 
force  in  France. 


It  is  thus,  I  think,  that 


"N.    BONAPARTE,    LUNEVILLE,   AN   IX. 


the  government  and  army,  but  undoubtedly 
it  was  one  of  the  most  statesmanlike  meas- 
ures carried  out  by  Napoleon. 

"  The  joy  of  the  overwhelming  majority 
of  France  silenced  even  the  boldest  mal- 
contents," says  Pasquier  ;  "it  became  evi- 
dent that  Napoleon,  better  than  those  who 
surrounded  him,  had  seen  into  the  depths 
of  the  nation's  heart." 

It  is  certain  that  in  reestablishing  the 
Church  Napoleon  did  not  yield  to  any 
religious  prejudice,  although  the  Catholic 

Church  was  the 
one  he  preferred. 
It  was  purely  a 
question  of 
policy.  In  ar- 
ranging the  Con- 
cordat he  might 
have  secured 
more  liberal 
measures  — 
measures  in 
which  hebelieved 
— but  he  refused 
them. 


"  Do  you  wish  me 
to  manufacture  a 
religion  of  caprice  for 
my  own  special  use, 
a  religion  that  would 
be  nobody's?  I  do 
not  so  understand 
matters.  What  I 
want  is  the  old  Catho- 
lic religion,  the  only 
one  which  is  im- 
bedded  in  every 
heart,  and  from 
which  it  has  never 
been  torn.  This  re- 
ligion alone  can  con- 
ciliate hearts  in  my 
favor ;  it  alone  can 
smooth  away  all  ob- 
stacles." 


Engraver  signs  U.  P. 


It    makes    the  __.._ e 

Catholic  Church  In  discussing 
the  state  church,  allows  the  government  the  subject  at  St.  Helena  he  said  to  Las 
to  name  the  bishops,  compels  it  to  pay  the  Cases  : 
salaries  of  the  clergy,  and  to  furnish  cathe- 
drals and  churches  for  public  worship,  "  When  I  came  to  the  head  of  affairs,  I  had  already 
which,  however,  remain  national  property.  [°™ed  certain  ^  °n  the  great  principles  which 
,-ni  A  j  •  j  j  /•  ii  hold  society  together.  I  had  weighed  all  the  im- 
The  Concordat  provided  for  the  absolu-  portance  Of  religion  ;  I  was  persuaded  of  it,  and  I 
tion  of  the  priests  who  had  married  in  the  had  resolved  to  reestablish  it.  You  would  scarcely 
Revolution,  restored  Sunday,  and  made  believe  in  the  difficulties  that  I  had  to  restore  Catholi- 
legal  holidays  of  certain  fete  days.  This  cism-  l  would  have  been  followed  much  more  will- 
j  .  i  •  <•  mely  if  I  had  unfurled  the  banner  of  Protestantism, 
arrangement  was  not  made  at  the  price  of  It  is  sure  that  in  the  disorder  to  which  T 

intolerance    towards    Other     bodies.       1  he  succeeded,  in  the  ruins  where  I  found  myself,  I  could 

French  government   protects   and   contrib-  choose  between  Catholicism  and  Protestantism.     And 

Utes   towards   the   support   of    all   religions  it  is  true  that  at  that  moment  the  disposition  was  in 

Within     its     bounds,     Catholic,     Protestant,  favor  of  the  latter.      But  outside  the  fact  thatl  really 

T                                                                                           '  clung  to  the  religion  in  which  I  had  been  born,  I  had 

Jew,  or  Mussulman.  the  highest  motives  to  decide  me.     By  proclaiming 

The  Concordat  was  ridiculed  by  many  ill  Protestantism,    what   would    I    have   obtained?      I 


:;T\ 


"  N.  Bonaparte, 


NAPOLEON    WHILE    FIRST   CONSUL   OF   FRANCE. 

Consul  de  la  Re'publique  Fran9aise."     Engraved  by  Mercohy£/j,  after  Dalbe. 


should  have  created  in  France  two  great  parties 
about  equal,  when  I  wished  there  should  be  longer 
but  one.  I  should  have  excited  the  fury  of  religious 
quarrels,  when  the  enlightenment  of  the  age  and 
my  desire  was  to  make  them  disappear  altogether. 
These  two  parties  in  tearing  each  other  to  pieces 
would  have  annihilated  France  and  rendered  her  the 
slave  of  Europe,  when  I  was  ambitious  of  making  her 
its  mistress.  With  Catholicism  I  arrived  much  more 
surely  at  my  great  results.  Within,  at  home,  the 
great  number  would  absorb  the  small,  and  I  promised 
myself  to  treat  with  the  latter  so  liberally  that  it  would 
soon  have  no  motive  for  knowing  the  difference. 


"  Without,  Catholicism  saved  me  the  Pope  ;  and 
with  my  influences  and  our  forces  in  Italy  I  did  not 
despair  sooner  or  later,  by  one  way  or  another,  of 
finishing  by  ruling  the  Pope  myself." 


EDUCATION. 


When  the  Church  fell  in  France,  the 
whole  system  of  education  went  down 
with  her.  The  Revolutionary  govern- 
ments tried  to  remedy  the  condition,  but 
beyond  many  plans  and  speeches  little  had 


GliANU    KEVIEW    BY   THE    FIRST   CONSUL    IN    THE   COURT   OF   THE   TUILERIES. 


been  done.  Napoleon  allowed  the  religious 
bodies  to  reopen  their  schools,  and  thus 
primary  instruction  was  soon  provided 
again  ;  and  he  founded  a  number  of  sec- 
ondary and  special  schools.  The  greatest 
of  his  educational  undertakings  was  the 
organization  of  the  University.  This  in- 
stitution was  centralized  in  the  head  of 
the  state  as  completely  as  every  other 
Napoleonic  institution.  It  exists  to-day 
but  little  changed — a  most  efficient  body, 
in  spite  of  its  rigid  state  control.  This 
university  did  nothing  for  woman. 

"  I  do  not  think  we  need  trouble  our- 
selves with  any  plan  of  instruction  for 
young  females,"  Napoleon  told  the  Coun- 
cil. "  They  cannot  be  brought  up  better 
than  by  their  mothers.  Public  education 
is  not  suitable  for  them,  because  they  are 
never  called  upon  to  act  in  public.  Man- 
ners are  all  in  all  to  them,  and  marriage 
is  all  they  look  to.  In  times  past  the 
monastic  life  was  open  to  women  ;  they 
espoused  God,  and,  though  society  gained 
little  by  that  alliance,  the  parents  gained 
by  pocketing  the  dowry." 

It  was  with  the  education  of  the  daugh- 
ters of  soldiers,  civil  functionaries,  and 
members  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  who  had 
died  and  left  their  children  unprovided 
for,  that  he  concerned  himself,  establishing 


schools  of  which  the  well-known  one  at 
St.  Denis  is  a  model.  The  rules  were  pre- 
pared by  Napoleon  himself,  who  insisted 
that  the  girls  should  be  taught  all  kinds 
of  housework  and  needlework — everything, 
in  fact,  which  would  make  them  good 
housekeepers  and  honest  women. 

The  military  schools  were  also  reorgan- 
ized -at  this  time.  Remembering  his  own 
experience  at  the  £cole.  Militaire,  Napoleon 
arranged  that  the  severest  economy  should 
be  practised  in  them,  and  that  the  pupils 
should  learn  to  do  everything  for  them- 
selves. They  even  cleaned,  bedded,  and 
shod  their  own  horses. 


THE    LEGION    OF    HONOR. 

The  destruction  of  the  old  system  of 
privileges  and  honors  left  the  government 
without  any  means  of  rewarding  those  who 
rendered  it  a  service.  Napoleon  presented 
a  law  for  a  Legion  of  Honor,  under  control 
of  the  state,  which  should  admit  to  its 
membership  only  those  who  had  done  some- 
thing of  use  to  the  public.  The  service 
might  be  military,  commercial,  artistic, 
humanitarian ;  no  limit  was  put  on  its 
nature ;  anything  which  helped  France  in 
any  way  was  to  be  rewarded  by  member- 
ship in  the  proposed  order.  In  fact,  it  was 


"NAPOLEON    REVIEWING   THE   CONSULAR   GUARDS   IN    THE   COURT   OF   THE   TUILER1ES."       l8<X>. 

Engraved  in  London,  by  C.  Turner,  after  a  painting  by  J.  Masquerier,  made  during  his  visit  to  Paris  in  1800. 
A  similar  picture,  the  Revue  du  Decadi,  was  painted  by  Isabey  and  Carle  Vernet,  and  engraved  by  Mecou.  Masson 
considers  Napoleon's  face  finer  at  this  time  than  at  any  other  period. 


the  most  democratic  distinction  possible, 
since  the  same  reward  was  given  for  all 
classes  of  services  and  to  all  classes  of 
people. 

Now  the  Revolutionary  spirit  spurned  all 
distinction ;  and  as  free  discussion  was 
allowed  on  the  law,  a  severe  arraignment  of 
it  was  made.  Nevertheless,  it  passed.  It 


immediately  became  a  power  in  the  hands 
of  the  First  Consul,  and  such  it  has  re- 
mained until  to-day  in  the  government. 
Though  it  has  been  frequently  abused,  and 
never,  perhaps,  more  flagrantly  than  by 
the  present  Republic,  unquestionably  the 
French  "  red  button  "  is  a  decoration  of 
which  to  be  proud. 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


CODIFICATION  OF  THE  LAWS.  lieved  justly  that  the  greatest  benefit  he 

could  render  France  would  be  to  give  her 

The  greatest  civil  achievement  of  Napo-    a  complete  and  systematic  code.     He  or- 

Up    ganized  the    force  for  this  gigantic  task, 


Icon  was  the  codification  of  the  laws. 


to  the  Revolution,  the  laws  of  France  had    and  pushed  revision  with  unflagging  energy! 


NAI'ULEON    WHILE    HKST   CONSUL   OK    FRANCE. 


"  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  Premier  Consul  de  la  Re'publique  Fran9aise."  Engraved  by  an 
English  engraver,  Dickinson,  after  a  portrait  by  Gros.  The  original  picture  was  given  to  the 
Second  Consul,  Cambace'res,  by  the  First  Consul,  Bonaparte. 


been  in  a  misty,  incoherent  condition,  feu- 
dal in  their  spirit,  and  by  no  means  uniform 
in  their  application.  The  Constituent  As- 
sembly had  ordered  them  revised,  but  the 
work  had  only  been  begun.  Napoleon  be- 


His  part  in  the  work  was  interesting  and 
important.  After  the  laws  had  been  well 
digested  and  arranged  in  preliminary 
bodies,  they  were  submitted  to  the  Council 
of  State.  It  was  in  the  discussion  before 


THE   COUNCIL    OF  STATE. 


this  body  that  Napoleon  took  part.  That 
a  man  of  thirty-one,  brought  up  as  a  soldier, 
and  having  no  legal  training,  could  follow 
the  discussions  of  such  a  learned  and 
serious  body  as  Napoleon's  Council  of 
State  always  was,  seems  incredible.  In 
fact,  he  prepared  for  each  session  as  thor- 
oughly as  the  law-makers  themselves. 

His  habit  was  to  talk  over,  beforehand 
generally,  with  Cambaceres  and  Portalis, 
two  legislators  of  great  learning  and  clear- 
ness of  judgment,  all  the  matters  which 
were  to  come 
up. 

''He  exam- 
ined each  ques- 
tion by  itself," 
says  Roederer, 
"  inquiring  into 
all  the  authori- 
ties, times,  ex- 
periences ;  de- 
manding  to 
know  how  i  t 
had  been  under 
ancient  juris- 
prudence, under 
Louis  XIV.,  or 
Frederick  the 
Great.  When  a 
bill  was  p  r  e  - 
sented  to  the 
First  Consul,  he 
rarely  failed  to 
ask  these  ques- 
tions :  Is  this 
bill  complete  ? 
Does  it  cover 
every  case? 
Why  have  you 
not  thought  of 
this  ?  Is  that 
necessary  ?  Is 
it  right  or  use- 
ful? What  is 
done  nowadays 
and  elsewhere?" 

At  night,  after  he  had  gone  to  bed,  he 
would  read  or  have  read  to  him  authorities 
on  the  subject.  Such  was  his  capacity  for 
grasping  an  idea,  that  he  would  come  to 
the  Council  with  a  perfectly  clear  notion 
of  the  subject  to  be  treated,  and  a  good 
idea  of  its  historical  development.  Thus 
he  could  follow  the  most  erudite  and  philo- 
sophical arguments,  and  could  take  part  in 
them. 

He  stripped  them  at  once  of  all  conven- 
tional phrases  and  learned  terms, and  stated 
clearly  what  they  meant.  He  had  no  use 
for  anything  but  the  plain  meaning.  By 


"NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE,  FIRST  CONSUL."     1802. 
Painted  in  1802  by  T.  Phillips,  Esq  ,  R.A.     Engraved  by  C.  Turner. 


thus  going  directly  to  the  practical  sense 
of  a  thing,  he  frequently  cleared  up  the 
ideas  of  the  revisers  themselves. 

In  framing  the  laws,  he  took  care  that 
they  should  be  worded  so  that  everybody 
could  understand  them.  Thus,  when  a  law 
relating  to  liquors  was  being  prepared,  he 
urged  that  wholesale  and  retail  should  be 
denned  in  such  a  way  that  they  would  be 
definite  ideas  to  the  people.  "  Pot  and/>/«/ 
must  be  inserted,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no 
objection  to  those  words.  An  excise  act 

isn't    an   epic 
poem." 

Napoleon  in- 
s  i  s  t  e  d  on  the 
greatest  free- 
dom of  speech 
in  the  discus- 
sions  on  the 
laws,  just  as  he 
did  on  "  going 
straight  to  the 
point  and  not 
wasting  time  on 
idle  talk."  This 
clear-headed- 
ness, energy, 
and  grasp  of 
subject,  e  x  er- 
c  i  s  e  d  over  a 
body  of  really 
remarkable 
men,  developed 
the  Council 
until  its  discus- 
sions became  fa- 
mous through- 
out Europe. 
One  of  its  wisest 
members,  Chan- 
cellor Pasquier, 
says  of  Napo- 
leon's direction, 
that  "  it  was  of 
such  a  nature  as 
to  enlarge  the 
sphere  of  one's  ideas,  and  to  give  one's 
faculties  all  the  development  of  which  they 
were  capable.  The  highest  legislative, 
administrative,  and  sometimes  even  politi- 
cal matters  were  taken  up  in  it  (the  Coun- 
cil). Did  we  not  see,  for  two  consecu- 
tive winters,  the  sons  of  foreign  sovereigns 
come  and  complete  their  education  in  its 
midst  ?" 

It  was  the  genius  of  the  head  of  the 
state,  however,  which  was  the  most  impres- 
sive feature  of  the  Council  of  State.  De 
Molleville,  a  former  minister  of  Louis  XVI., 
said  once  to  Las  Cases  : 


THE    FIRST  CONSUL   AND    MADAME    BONAPARTE    VISITING   THE    MANUFACTORIES   OF   ROUEN,    NOVKMBER,  1802. 


Sepia  sketch,  measuring  not  less  than  sixty-six  inches  by  forty-eight ;  one  of  the  most  important  works  of  J.  14. 
Isabey.  The  First  Consul,  accompanied  by  Madame  Bonaparte,  left  Paris  October  28,  1802,  in  order  to  visit  the 
important  factories  of  the  department  of  Seine-Infe'rieure.  In  his  journey  to  Normandy,  Napoleon  wished  to  inspect 
all  the  public  establishments  :  the  hospitals,  workyards,  wharves,  and  manufactories  of  all  kinds.  He  left  every- 
where behind  him  marks  of  his  kindness,  generosity,  and  sense  of  justice.  Isabey's  beautiful  sketch  represents 
the  moment  when  the  First  Consul  and  Josephine  are  visiting  the  manufactory  of  the  Brothers  SeVene.  They  pre- 
sented to  him  an  old  man  who  had  worked  there  for  fifty  years.  The  First  Consul  received  him  kindly,  accorded 
him  a  pension,  and  ordered  to  be  admitted  to  the  Prytantfe  (military  school)  his  grandson,  whose  father  had  been 
killed  in  the  army.  This  sepia,  which  unfortunately  becomes  more  and  more  discolored  by  the  sun,  was  exhibited 
in  the  Salon  of  1804.  It  is  now  in  the  Versailles  collection. — A.  D. 


"  It  must  be  admitted  that  your  Bonaparte,  your 
Napoleon,  was  a  very  extraordinary  man.  We  were 
far  from  understanding  him  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water.  We  could  not  refuse  the  evidence  of  his  vic- 
tories and  his  invasions,  it  is  true  ;  but  Genseric, 
Attila,  Alaric  had  done  as  much  ;  so  he  made  more 
of  an  impression  of  terror  on  me  than  of  admiration. 
But  when  I  came  here  and  followed  the  discussions 
on  the  civil  code,  from  that  moment  I  had  nothing 
but  profound  veneration  for  him.  But  where  in  the 
world  had  he  learned  all  that  ?  And  then  every  day 
I  discovered  something  new  in  him.  Ah,  sir,  what 
a  man  you  had  there  !  Truly,  he  was  a  prodigy." 

The  modern  reader  who  looks  at  France 
and  sees  how  her  University,  her  special 
schools,  her  hospitals,  her  great  honorary 
legion,  her  treaty  with  the  Catholic  Church, 
her  code  of  laws,  her  Bank — the  vital  ele- 
ments of  her  life,  in  short — are  as  they 
came  from  Napoleon's  brain,  must  ask, 
with  De  Molleville,  How  did  he  do  it — he 
a  foreigner,  born  in  a  half-civilized  island, 
reared  in  a  military  school,  without  diplo- 
matic or  legal  training,  without  the  pres- 
tige of  name  or  wealth  ?  How  could  he 


make  a  nation?  How  could  he  be  other 
than  the  barbaric  conqueror  the  English 
and  the  Smigrh  first  thought  him  ? 

Those  who  look  at  Napoleon's  achieve- 
ments, and  are  either  dazzled  or  horrified 
by  them,  generally  consider  his  power  su- 
perhuman. They  call  it  divine  or  diabolic, 
according  to  the  feeling  he  inspires  in  them ; 
but,  in  reality,  the  qualities  he  showed  in  his 
career  as  a  statesman  and  lawgiver  are 
very  human  ones.  His  stout  grasp  on  sub- 
jects ;  his  genius  for  hard  work  ;  his  power 
of  seeing  everything  that  should  be  done, 
and  doing  it  himself  ;  his  unparalleled  au- 
dacity, explain  his  civil  achievements. 

The  comprehension  he  had  of  questions 
of  government  was  really  the  result  of 
serious  thinking.  He  had  reflected  from 
his  first  days  at  Brienne  ;  and  the  active 
interest  he  had  taken  in  the  Revolution  of 
1789  had  made  him  familiar  with  many  so- 
cial and  political  questions.  His  career  in 
Italy,  which  was  almost  as  much  a  diplo- 
matic as  a  military  career,  had  furnished 


NAPOLEON    WHILE    FIRST   CONSUL    OF    FRANCE. 

"  Bonaparte,  Ier  Consul  de  la  Rep.  Franc."    Engraved  in  1801  by  Audouin,  after  a  design  by  Bouillon. 


him  an  experience  upon  which  he  had 
founded  maay  notions.  In  his  dreams  "of 
becoming  an  Oriental  lawgiver  he  had 
planned  a  system  of  government  of  which 
he  was  to  be  the  centre.  Thus,  before  the 
i8th  Brumaire  made  him  the  Dictator  of 
France,  he  had  his  ideas  of  centralized 
government  all  formed,  just  as,  before  he 


crossed  the  Great  Saint  Bernard,  he  had 
fought,  over  and  over,  the  battle  of  Ma- 
rengo,  with  black-  and  red-headed  pins 
stuck  into  a  great  map  of  Italy  spread  out 
on  his  study  floor. 

His  habit  of  attending  to  everything 
himself  explains  much  of  his  success.  No 
detail  was  too  small  for  him,  no  task  too 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


... 


NAPOLEON    IN 


"  Buonaparte."    Drawn  from  the  life  by  T.  Phillips,  Esq.,  R.A.,  in  1802. 
Engraved  by  Edwards. 


menial.     If  a  thing  needed  attention,  no 
matter  whose  business  it  was,  he  looked 
after  it.     Reading  letters  once 
before  Madame  Junot,  she  said 
to  him  that  such  work  must  be 
tiresome,  and  advised   him    to 
give  it  to  a  secretary. 

"  Later,  perhaps,"  he  said. 
"  Now  it  is  impossible  ;  I  must 
answer  for  all.  It  is  not  at  the 
beginning  of  a  return  to  order 
that  I  can  afford  to  ignore  a 
need,  a  demand." 

He  carried  out  this  policy 
literally.  When  he  went  on  a 
journey,  he  looked  personally 
after  every  road,  bridge,  public 
building,  he  passed,  and  his  let- 
ters teemed  with  orders  about 
repairs  here,  restorations  there. 
He" looked  after  individuals  in 
the  same  way  ;  ordered  a  pen- 
sion to  this  one,  a  position  to 
that  one,  even  dictating  how 
the  gift  should  be  made  known 
so  as  to  offend  the  least  possi- 
ble the  pride  of  the  recipi- 
ent. 

When  it  came  to  foreign  pol- 
icy, he  told  his  diplomats  how 
they  should  look,  whether  it 
should  be  grave  or  gay,  whether 


they  should  discuss  the  opera 
or  the  political  situation. 

The  cost  of  the  soldiers' 
shoes,  the  kind  of  box  Joseph- 
ine took  at  the  opera,  the  style 
of  architecture  for  the  Made- 
leine, the  amount  of  stock  left 
on  hand  in  the  silk  factories, 
the  wording  of  the  laws,  all 
was  his  business. 

He  thought  of  the  flowers  to 
be  scattered  daily  on  the  tomb 
of  General  Re"gnier,  suggested 
the  idea  of  a  battle  hymn  to 
Rouget  de  1'Isle,  told  the  artists 
what  expression  to  give  him  in 
their  portraits,  what  accessories 
to  use  in  their  battle  pieces, 
ordered  everything,  verified 
everything.  "Beside  him," 
said  those  who  looked  on  in 
amazement,  "the  most  punc- 
tilious clerk  would  have  been 
a  bungler." 

Without     an    extraordinary 
capacity    for    work,    no    man 
could  have  done  this.     Napo- 
leon would  work   until  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  be 
up  again  at  three  in  the  morning.     Fre- 
quently he  slept  but  an  hour,  and  came 


Engraved  by  J.  B.  Massard.  after  J.  H.  Point.     Below  the  portrait  is 
printed  in  French  and  English  the  following  legend  : 

"  His  name  will  be  renowned  through  all  Europe  and  Egypt  for  his  valor  in  combat, 
and  yet  more  so  for  his  wisdom  in  counsel." 


SIGNING  OF   CONCORDAT. 

By  GeYard.    The  original  is  at  Versailles. 


back  as  fresh  as  evei.  No  secretary  could 
keep  up  to  him,  and  his  ministers  some- 
times went  to  sleep  in  the  Council,  worn 
out  with:  the  length  of  the  session.  "  Come, 
citizen  ministers,"  he  would  cry,  "  we  must 
earn  the  money  the  French  nation  gives 
us."  The  ministers  rarely  went  home  from 
the  meetings  that  they  did  not  find  a  half- 
dozen  letters  from  him  on  their  tables  to 
be  answered,  and  the  answer  must  be  a 
clear,  exact,  exhaustive  document.  "  Get 
your  information  so  that  when  you  do 
answer  me,  there  shall  be  no  '  buts,'  no 
'ifs,'  and  no  '  becauses,'  "  was  the  rule  Na- 
poleon laid  down  to  his  correspondents. 


He  had  audacity.  He  dared  do  what  he 
would.  He  had  no  conventional  notions 
to  tie  him,  no  master  to  dictate  to  him. 
The  Revolution  had  swept  out  of  his  way 
the  accumulated  experience  of  centuries — 
all  the  habits,  the  prejudices,  the  ways  of 
doing  things.  He  commenced  nearer  the 
bottom  than  any  man  in  the  history  of  the 
civilized  world  had  ever  done,  worked  with 
imperial  self-confidence,  with  a  conviction 
that  he  "was  not  like  other  men;"  that 
the  moral  laws,  the  creeds,  the  conventions, 
which  applied  to  them,  were  not  for  him. 
He  might  listen  to  others,  but  in  the  end 
he  dared  do  as  he  would. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


OPPOSITION    TO    THE   CENTRALIZATION    OF   THE   GOVERNMENT.- 

PROSPERITY. 


GENERAL 


OPPOSITION,    AND     HOW    HE    MET    IT. 

THE  centralization  of  France  in  Na- 
poleon's hands  was  not  to  be  allowed 
to  go  on  without  interference.  Jacobin- 
ism, republicanism,  royalism,  were  deeply- 
rooted  sentiments,  and  it  was  not  long 


before  they  began  to  struggle  for  expres- 
sion. 

Early  in  the  Consulate,  plots  of  many 
descriptions  were  unearthed.  The  most 
serious  before  1803  was  that  known  as  the 
"  Opera  Plot,"  or  "  Plot  of  the  3d  Nivose  " 
(December  24,  1800),  when  a  bomb  was 


MADAME    RECAMIER.       l8oO. 

By  Jacquet,  after  David.  Madame  Recamier  (Jeanne  Francoise  Julie  Adelaide)  was  born  in  Lyons  in  1777.  Her 
father,  Jean  Bernard,  afterwards  moved  to  Paris,  where  he  saw  much  of  society  and  occupied  a  good  position.  In 
1793  Julie  was  married  to  Monsieur  Recamier,  a  rich  banker  twenty-seven  years  her  senior.  During  the  Directory 
Madame  Recamier  became  intimate  with  the  members  of  the  Bonaparte  family  in  Paris,  and  Lucien  fell  deeply  in  love 
with  her,  an  affection  she  never  returned.  She  first  met  the  First  Consul  at  Lucien's  in  the  winter  of  1799-1800,  and 
he  noticed  her  especially.  She  was  much  attracted  by  his  simplicity  and  by  his  kindness.  In  1802  Madame  Recamier's 
father,  who  was  Postmaster-General,  was  found  to  be  sheltering  a  royalist  correspondence,  and  was  arrested  and 
imprisoned.  Through  the  intercession  of  Madame  Recamier,  Bernadotte  secured  his  release  from  the  First  Consul. 
The  arrest  and  trial  of  Moreau,  who  was  a  friend  of  Madame  Re'camier,  the  exile  of  Madame  de  Stael,  and  the  execu- 
tion of  the  Due  d'Enghien,  put  her  in  opposition  to  the  government,  though  she  received  both  friends  and  enemies 
of  Napoleon.  In  1805  Fouch^  attempted  to  persuade  her  to  accept  a  place  at  court,  which  she  refused.  In  1807 
Madame  Re'camier  visited  Madame  de  Stael  at  Coppet,  where  she  met  Prince  Augustus  of  Prussia,  who  wished  to 
marry  her.  She  seems  to  have  determined  once  to  secure  a  divorce  and  marry  the  Prince,  but  abandoned  the  idea 
because  of  Monsieur  Recamier's  distress.  In  iSnshewas  exiled  forty  leagues  from  Paris  because  cf  her  intimacy 
with  Madame  de  Stael,  and  she  did  not  return  until  after  the  invasion  in  1814.  In  1817,  after  Madame  de  Stael's  death, 
she  met  Chateaubriand,  with  whom  she  remained  intimately  allied  through  the  rest  of  her  life.  In  1830  Monsieur 
Re'camier  died.  Sixteen  years  afterwards  Chateaubriand  became  a  widower.  He  wished  to  marry  Madame  Recamier, 
but  she  refused.  She  died  in  Paris  in  1849.  Of  all  the  women  of  the  period,  no  one  is  more  interesting  than  Madame 
Recamier.  Purity  of  character,  independence  of  spirit,  and  fidelity  to  friends  distinguished  her,  as  well  as  remarkable 
beauty. 


placed  in  the  street,  to  be  exploded  as  the 
First  Consul's  carriage  passed.  By  an 
accident  he  was  saved,  and,  in  spite  of 
the  shock,  went  on  to  the  opera. 

Madame  Junot,  who  was  there,  gives  a 
graphic  description  of  the  way  the  news 
was  received  by  the  house  : 

"  The  first  thirty  measures  of  the  oratorio  were 
scarcely  played,  when  a  strong  explosion  like  a  can- 
non was  heard. 

''What  does  that  mean?'  exclaimed  Junot  with 
emotion.  He  opened  the  door  of  the  loge  and  looked 
into  the  corridor.  .  .  .  '  It  is  strange  ;  how  can 
they  be  firing  the  cannon  at  this  hour  ?  '  And  then, 
'  I  should  have  known  it.  Give  me  my  hat ;  I  am 
going  to  find  out  what  it  is.  .  .  .' 

"  At   this   moment  the   loge  of   the  First  Consul 


opened,  and  he  himself  appeared  with  General 
Lannes,  Lauriston,  Berthier,  and  Duroc.  Smiling, 
he  saluted  the  immense  crowd,  which  mingled  cries 
like  those  of  love  with  its  applause.  Madame  Bona- 
parte followed  him  in  a  few  seconds. 

"  Junot  was  going  to  enter  the  loge  to  see  for  him- 
self the  serene  air  of  the  First  Consul  that  I  had  just 
remarked,  when  Duroc  came  up  to  us  with  troubled 
face. 

"  'The  First  Consul  has  just  escaped  death,'  he 
said  quickly  to  Junot.  '  Go  down  and  see  him  ;  he 
wants  to  talk  to  you.'  .  .  .  But  a  dull  sound 
commenced  to  spread  from  parterre  to  orchestra,  from 
orchestra  to  amphitheatre,  and  thence  to  the  loges. 

"  '  The  First  Consul  has  just  been  attacked  in  the 
Rue  Saint  Nicaise,'  it  was  whispered.  Soon  the 
truth  was  circulated  in  the  salle;  at  the  same  instant, 
and  as  by  an  electric  shock,  one  and  the  same  acclama- 
tion arose,  one  and  the  same  look  enveloped  Napo- 
leon, as  if  in  a  protecting  love. 


MADAME    DE   STAEL   (ANNE    LOUISE   GEKMA1NE   NECKER,    BAKONNE    DE   STAEI.-HOLSTEIN).       1802. 

Engraved  in  1818  by  Laugier,  after  Gerard.  Madame  de  Stael  was  born  in  Paris  in  1766.  Her  father  was  the 
famous  banker  Necker,  and  her  mother,  Suzanne  Curchod,  the  early  love  of  Gibbon.  She  held  a  high  position  in 
Paris  until  the  Terror  obliged  her  to  flee,  when  she  went  to  Coppet,  on  Lake  Geneva,  where  a  number  of  her  friends 
gathered  about  her.  She  returned  to  Paris  under  the  Directory,  and  when  Napoleon  returned  from  the  Italian  cam- 
paign she  pretended  to  have  the  greatest  admiration  for  him,  and  persisted  in  putting  herself  in  his  way.  His  dis- 
like was  so  pronounced  that  she  was  irritated,  and  when,  to  this  personal  complaint,  she  added  a  more  serious  one — the 
way  he  was  centralizing  power  in  his  hands — she  became  a  noisy  and  troublesome  critic  of  his  policy.  In  1803,  when 
she  came  to  Paris  from  Coppet,  she  was  ordered  not  to  reside  within  forty  leagues  of  the  city.  For  three  years  she 
obeyed,  but  in  1806  she  came  too  near  Paris.  In  1807  the  publication  of  "  Corinne  "  called  attention  to  her,  and  she  was 
sent  back  to  Coppet.  For  two  years  she  was  busy  at  her  work  on  "  Germany,"  which,  when  done,  she  published  in 
Paris  :  but  the  whole  edition  of  ten  thousand  copies  was  condemned  as  "not  French,"  and  she  was  forbidden  to  enter 
France.  When  Louis  XVIII.  was  restored,  she  returned  to  Paris,  but  fled  to  Coppet  at  the  news  of  Napoleon's  return. 
She  died  on  July  14,  1817. 


BONAPARTE   AS   GENERAL,    CONSUL,    MEMBER   OF  THE    INSTITUTE. 

These  busts  are  in  Sevres  biscuit.  The  first,  which  is  much  superior  to  the  other  two,  is  attributed  to  Boizot. 
The  manufactory  of  Sevres  produced  many  such  busts,  especially  in  the  consular  period,  and  Bonaparte,  anxious  to 
see  his  face  everywhere,  encouraged  the  production  and  diffusion  of  them.  I  have  before  me  an  official  document 
which  shows  that  from  the  commencement  of  the  year  VI.  to  the  end  of  the  year  IX.  the  factory  produced  more  than 
four  hundred  busts  and  thirteen  hundred  medallions  of  Bonaparte  — A.  D. 


"  What  agitation  preceded  the  explosion  of  na- 
tional anger  which  was  represented  in  that  first  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  by  that  crowd  whose  fury  for  so  black 
an  attack  could  not  be  expressed  by  words  !  Women 
sobbed  aloud,  men  shivered  with  indignation.  What- 
ever the  banner  they  followed,  they  were  united  heart 
and  arm  in  this  case  to  show  that  differences  of  opin- 
ion did  not  bring  with  them  differences  in  under- 
standing honor." 

It  was  such  attempts,  and  suspicion  of 
like  ones,  that  led  to  the  extension  of  the 
police  service. 

One  of  the  ablest  and  craftiest  men  of 
the  Revolution  became  Napoleon's  head  of 
police  in  the  Consulate,  Fouche.  A  con- 
summate actor  and  skilful  flatterer,  hindered 
by  no  conscience  other  than  the  duty  of 
keeping  in  place,  he  acted  a  curious  and 
entertaining  part.  Detective  work  was 
for  him  a  game  which  he  played  with  in- 
tense relish.  He  was  a  veritable  amateur 
of  plots,  and  never  gayer  than  when  trac- 
ing them. 

Napoleon  admired  Fouche,  but  he  did 
not  trust  him,  and,  to  offset  him,  formed  a 
private  police  to  spy  on  his  work.  He 
never  succeeded  in  finding  anyone  suffi- 
ciently fine  to  match  the  chief,  who  several 
times  was  malicious  enough  to  contrive 


plots  himself,  to  excite  and  mislead  the 
private  agents. 

The  system  of  espionage  went  so  far 
that  letters  were  regularly  opened.  It  was 
commonly  said  that  those  who  did  not 
want  their  letters  read,  did  not  send  them 
by  post;  and  though  it  was  hardly  neces- 
sary, as  in,  the  Revolution,  to  send  them  in 
pies,  in  coat-linings,  or  hat-crowns, yet  care 
and  prudence  had  to  be  exercised  in  hand- 
ling all  political  letters. 

It  was  difficult  to  get  officials  for  the 
post-office  who  could  be  relied  on  to  ,in- 
tercept  the  proper  letters  ;  and  in  1802, 
the  Postmaster-General,  Monsieur  Bernard, 
the  father  of  the  beautiful  Madame  Re"ca- 
mier,  was  found  to  be  concealing  an  active 
royalist  correspondence,  and  to  be  per- 
mitting the  circulation  of  a  quantity  of 
seditious  pamphlets.  His  arrest  and  im- 
prisonment made  a  great  commotion  in 
his  daughter's  circle,  which  was  one  of 
social  and  intellectual  importance.  Through 
the  intercessions  of  Bernadotte,  Monsieur 
Bernard  was  pardoned  by  Napoleon.  The 
cabinet  noir,  as  the  department  of  the  post- 
office  which  did  this  work  was  called,  was 
in  existence  when  Napoleon  came  to  the 


THE   SUPPRESSION  OF  OPPOSITION. 


79 


MARIE   JOSEPH    DE   CHfiNIER. 
1764-1811. 

Anonymous  portrait  of  the  cel- 
ebrated French  dramatic  author, 
and  brother  of  the  poet  Andr^  de 
Ch^nier,  guillotined  in  1794.  The 
principal  tragedies  of  Joseph  de 
Chenier  are,  '•  Charles  IX."  and 
'•Henry  VIII.."  but  the  work  above 
all  that  makes  his  name  popular  and 
almost  the  equal  of  that  of  Rouget 
de  Tlsle,  is  the  famous  revolution- 
ary hymn,  "  Le  Chant  du  Depart," 
which  M^hul  set  to  music. 


Consulate,  and 
he  rather  re- 
stricted than 
increased  its 
operations.  It 
has  never  been 
entirely  given 
up,  as  many  an 
inoffensive  for- 
eigner in  France 
can  testify. 

The  theatre 
and  press  were 
also  subjected 
to  a  strict  cen- 
sorship  In 
1800  the  num- 
ber of  news- 
papers  in  Paris 
was  reduced  to 
twelve  ;  and  in 
three  years 
there  were  but 
eight  left,  with 
a  total  subscrip- 


tion list  of  eigh- 
teen thousand  six  hundred  and  thirty. 
Napoleon's  contempt  for  journalists  and 
editors  equalled  that  he  had  for  lawyers, 
whom  he  called  a  "heap  of  babblers  and 
revolutionists."  Neither  class  could,  in 
his  judgment,  be  allowed  to  go  free. 

The  salons  were  watched,  and  it  is  certain 
that  those  whose  habitues  criticised  Napo- 
leon freely  were  reported.  One  serious 
rupture  resulted  from  the  supervision  of 
the  salons,  that  with  Madame  de  Stael. 
She  had  been  an  ardent  admirer  of  Napo- 
leon in  the  beginning  of  the  Consulate, 
and  Bourrienne  tells  several  amusing  stories 
of  the  disgust  Napoleon  showed  at  the 
letters  of  admiration  and  sentiment  which 
she  wrote  him  even  so  far  back  as  the 
Italian  campaign.  If  the  secretary  is  to  be 
believed,  Madame  de  Stael  told  Napoleon, 
in  one  of  these  letters,  that  they  were  cer- 
tainly created  for  each  other,  that  it  was 
an  error  in  human  institutions  that  the 
mild  and  tranquil  Josephine  was  united  to 
his  fate,  that  nature  evidently  had  intended 
for  a  hero  such  as  he,  her  own  soul  of  fire. 
Napoleon  tore  the  letter  to  pieces,  and 
he  took  pains  thereafter  to  announce  with 
great  bluntness  to  Madame  de  Stael, 
whenever  he  met  her,  his  own  notions  of 
women,  which  certainly  were  anything  but 
"  modern." 

As  the  centralization  of  the  government 
increased,  Madame  de  Stael  and  her  friends 
criticised  Napoleon  more  freely  and  sharply 
than  they  would  have  done,  no  doubt,  had 


she  not  been  incensed  by  his  personal  atti- 
tude towards  her.  This  hostility  increased 
until,  in  1803,  the  First  Consul  ordered  her 
out  of  France.  "  The  arrival  of  this  woman, 
like  that  of  a  bird  of  omen,"  he  said  in  giv- 
ing the  order,  "  has  always  been  the  signal 
for  some  trouble.  It  is  not  my  intention 
to  allow  her  to  remain  in  France." 

In  1807  this  order  was  repeated,  and 
many  of  Madame  de  StaeTs  friends  were 
included  in  the  proscription  : 

"  I  have  written  to  the  Minister  of  Police  to  send 
Madame  de  Stael  to  Geneva.  This  woman  continues 
her  trade  of  intriguer.  She  went  near  Paris  in  spite 
of  my  orders.  She  is  a  veritable  plague.  Speak 
seriously  to  the  Minister,  for  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
have  her  seized  by  the  gendarmerie.  Keep  an  eye 
upon  Benjamin  Constant ;  if  he  meddles  with  any- 
thing I  shall  send  him  to  his  wife  at  Brunswick.  I 
will  not  tolerate  this  clique." 

But  when  one  compares  the  policy  of  re- 
striction during  the  Consulate  with  what  it 
had  been  under  the  old  regime  and  in  the 
Revolution,  it  certainly  was  far  in  advance 
in  liberty,  discretion,  and  humanity.  The 
republican  government  to-day,  in  its  re- 
pression of  anarchy  and  socialism,  has 
acted  with  less  wisdom  and  less  respect  for 
freedom  of  thought  than  Napoleon  did  at 
this  period  of  his  career  ;  and  that,  too,  in 
circumstances  less  complicated  and  critical. 


MEHUL.      1763-1817. 

Celebrated  French  composer  of  music  Author  of  a 
great  number  of  operas,  of  which  the  most  celebrated  is 
"  Joseph."  It  is  Mehul  who  composed,  to  the  words  of 
Joseph  de  Chenier,  the  music  of  the  "Chant  du  Depart," 
the/rere  of  "  The  Marseillaise." 


8o 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


INTERNAL    PEACE    AND    PROSPERITY. 

If  there  were  still  dull  rumors  of  discon- 
tent, a  cabinet  noir,  a  restricted  press,  a 
censorship  over  the  theatre,  proscriptions, 
even  imprisonments  and  executions,  on  the 
whole  France  was  happy. 

"  Not  only  did  the  interior  wheels  of 
the  machine  commence  to  run  smoothly," 
says  the  Duchesse  d'Abrantes,  "  but  the 
arts  themselves,  that  most  peaceful  part  of 
the  interior  administration,  gave  striking 
proofs  of  the  returning  prosperity  of 
France.  The  exposition  at  the  Salon  that 
year  (1800)  was  remarkably  fine.  Guerin, 
David,  Gerard,  Girodet,  a  crowd  of  great 
talents,  spurred  on  by  the  emulation  which 
always  awakes  the  fire  of  genius,  produced 
works  which  must  some  time  place  our 
school  at  a  high  rank." 

The  art  treasures  of  Europe  were  pour- 
ing into  France.  Under  the  direction  of 
Denon,  that  indefatigable  dilettante  and 
student,  who  had  collected  in  the  expedi- 
tion in  Egypt  more  entertaining  material 
than  the  whole  Institute,  and  had  written 
a  report  of  it  which  will  always  be  pre- 
ferred to  the  "  Great  Work,"  the  galleries 
of  Paris  were  reorganized  and  opened  two 
days  of  the  week  to  the  people.  Napoleon 
inaugurated  this  practice  himself.  Not 
only  was  Paris  supplied  with  galleries : 
those  department  museums  which  surprise 
and  delight  the  tourist  so  in  France  to-day 
were  then  created  at  Angers,  Antwerp, 
Autun,  Bordeaux,  Brussels,  Caen,  Dijon, 
Geneva,  Grenoble,  Le  Mans,  Lille,  Lyons, 
Mayence,  Marseilles,  Montpellier,  Nancy, 
Nantes,  Rennes,  Rouen,  Strasburg,  Tou- 


FRANCOIS   GERARD.       1770-1837. 

After  a  crayon  by  Girodet.  Gerard  was 
one  of  the  best  of  the  portrait  painters  of  Bona- 
parte, and  his  "  Consul "  (collection  of  the 
Due  d'Aumale)  and  his  "  Empereur  "  in  cos- 
tume, are  two  of  the  principal  pieces  of  the 
Napoleonic  iconography. 


louse, and  Tours. 
T  h  eprix  deRome, 
for  which  there 
had  been  no 
money  in  the 
treasury  for 
some  time,  was 
again  reestab- 
lished. 

Every  effort 
was  made  to 
stimulate  scien- 
tific research. 
The  case  of 
Volta  is  one  to 


BERNARDIN    DE    ST.    PIERRE. 


1737-1814. 


After  a  portrait  by  Girodet. 
Engraved  by  Wedge  wood.  Cel- 
ebrated French  writer.  Hisprin- 
cipal  works  are,  "  Paul  and 
Virginia,"  "The  Chaumiere  In- 
dienne,''  and  "  Studies  from  Na- 
ture." 


the  point.  In 
1801  Bonaparte 
called  the  emi- 
nent physicist  to 
Paris  to  repeat 
his  experiments 
before  the  Insti- 
tute. He  pro- 
posed that  a  medal  should  be  given  him, 
with  a  sum  of  money,  and  in  his  honor  he 
established  a  prize  of  sixty  thousand  francs, 
to  be  awarded  to  any  one  who  should  make 
a  discovery  similar  in  value  to  Volta's.* 

One  of  our  own  compatriots — Robert 
Fulton — was  about  the  same  time  encour- 
aged by  the  First  Consul.  Fulton  was  ex- 
perimenting with  his  submarine  torpedo 
and  diving  boat,  and  for  four  years  had 
been  living  in  Paris  and  besieging  the 
Directory  to  grant  him  attention  and  funds. 
Napoleon  took  the  matter  up  as  soon  as 
Fulton  brought  it  to  him,  ordered  a  com- 
mission appointed  to  look  into  the  inven- 
tion, and  a  grant  of  ten  thousand  francs 
for  the  necessary  experiments. 

The  Institute  was  reorganized,  and  to 
encourage  science  and  the  arts  he  founded, 
in  1804,  twenty-two  prizes,  nine  of  which 
were  of  ten  thousand  francs,  and  thirteen 
*of  five  thousand  francs.  They  were  to  be 
awarded  every  ten  years  by  the  emperor 
himself,  on  the  i8th  Brumaire.  The  first  dis- 
tribution of  these  prizes  was  to  have  taken 

*  The  Volta  prize  has  been  awarded  only  three  or  four 
times.  An  award  of  particular  interest  to  Americans  was 
that  made  in  1880  to  Dr.  Alexander  Graham  Bell,  the  invent- 
or of  the  telephone.  The  amount  of  the  prize  was  a  little 
less  than  ten  thousand  dollars.  Dr.  Bell,  being  already  in 
affluent  circumstances,  upon  receiving  this  prize,  set  it  apart 
to  be  used  for  the  benefit  of  the  deaf,  in  whose  welfare  he 
had  for  many  years  taken  a  great  interest.  He  invested  it 
in  another  invention  of  his,  which  proved  to  be  very  profit- 
able, so  that  the  fund  came  to  amount  to  one  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  This  he  termed  the  Volta  Fund.  Some  of  this 
fund  has  been  applied  by  Dr.  Bell  to  the  organization  of  the 
Volta  Bureau,  which  collects  all  valuable  information  that 
can  be  obtained  with  reference  to  not  only  deaf  mutes  as  a 
class,  but  to  deaf-mutes  individually.  Twenty-five  thousand 
dollars  has  been  given  to  the  Association  for  the  Promotion 
of  Teaching  Speech  to  the  Deaf.  Napoleon  is  thus  indirectly 
the  founder  of  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  valuable 
present  undertakings  of  the  country. 


THE    DESCENT    ON    ENGLAND. 


81 


place  in  1809,  but  the  judges  could  not 
agree  on  the  laureates  ;  and  before  a  con- 
clusion was  reached,  the  Empire  had  fallen. 
In  literature  and  in  music,  as  in  art  and 
science,  there  was  a  renewal  of  activity. 
A  circle  of  poets  and  writers  gathered  about 
the  First  Consul.  Paisiello  was  summoned 
to  Paris  to  direct  the  opera  and  conserva- 
tory of  music.  There  was  a  revival  of 
dignity  and  taste  in  strong  contrast  to  the 
license  and  carelessness  of  the  Revolution. 
The  incroyable  passed  away.  The  Greek 
costume  disappeared  from  the  street.  Men 
and  women  began  again  to  dress,  to  act, 
to  talk,  according  to  conventional  forms. 


Society  recovered  its  systematic  ways  of 
doing  things,  and  soon  few  signs  of  the 
general  dissolution  which  had  prevailed  for 
ten  years  were  to  be  seen. 

Once  more  the  traveller  crossed  France 
in  peace  ;  peasant  and  laborer  went  undis- 
turbed about  their  work,  and  slept  without 
fear.  Again  the  people  danced  in  the  fields 
and  "sang  their  songs  as  they  had  in  the 
days  before  the  Revolution."  "  France 
has  nothing  to  ask  from  Heaven,"  said 
Regnault  de  Saint  Jean  d'Angely,  "  but  that 
the  sun  may  continue  to  shine,  the  rain  to 
fall  on  our  fields,  and  the  earth  to  render 
the  seed  fruitful." 


CHAPTER    X. 

PREPARATIONS    FOR    WAR    WITH    ENGLAND.— FLOTILLA    AT     BOULOGNE.- 

SALE.  OF    LOUISIANA. 


RUPTURE    OF    THE    TREATY.OF    AMIENS. 

IN  the  spring  of  1803  the  treaty  of 
Amiens,  which  a  year  before  had  ended 
the  long  war  with  England,  was  broken. 
Both  countries  had  many  reasons  for  com- 
plaint. Napoleon  was  angry  at  the  failure 
to  evacuate  Malta.  The 
perfect  freedom  allowed 
the  press  in  England  gave 
the  pamphleteers  and 
caricaturists  of  the  coun- 
try opportunity  to  criti- 
cise and  ridicule  him.  He 
complained  bitterly  to  the 
English  ambassadors  of 
this  free  press,  an  institu- 
tion in  his  eyes  impracti- 
cal and  idealistic.  He 
complained,  too,  of  the 
hostile  emigres  allowed  to 
collect  in  Jersey  ;  of  the 
presence  in  England  of 
such  notorious  enemies  of 
his  as  Georges  Cadoudal  ; 
and  of  the  sympathy  and 
money  the  Bourbon 
princes  and  many  nobles 
of  the  old  regime  received 
in  London  society.  Then, 
too,  he  regarded  the  country  as  his  natural 
and  inevitable  enemy.  England  to  Napo- 
leon was  only  a  little  island  which,  like 
Corsica  and  Elba,  naturally  belonged  to 
France,  and  he  considered  it  part  of  his 
business  to  get  possession  of  her. 

England,  on  the  other  hand,  looked  with 
distrust  at  the  extension  of  Napoleon's  in- 


MAOAME   TALLIEN.       1773-1835. 

By  Quenedey.  This  picture  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  faithful  portrait  of  the  famous 
wife  of  Tallien.  It  was  probably  taken 
whep.  she  was  about  twenty-five  years  old  ; 
a  period  when  she  was  frequently  at  Mal- 


fluence  on  the  Continent.  Northern  Italy, 
Switzerland,  Holland,  Parma,  Elba,  were 
under  his  protectorate.  She  had  been 
deeply  offended  by  a  report  published  in 
Paris,  on  the  condition  of  the  Orient,  in 
which  the  author  declared  that  with  six 
thousand  men  the  French  could  reconquer 
Egypt ;  she  resented  the 
violent  articles  in  the  offi- 
cial press  of  Paris  in 
answer  to  those  of  the  free 
press  of  England  ;  her 
aristocratic  spirit  was  irri- 
tated by  Napoleon's  suc- 
cess ;  she  despised  this 
parvenu,  this  "  Corsican 
scoundrel,"  as  Nelson 
called  him,  who  had  had 
the  hardihood  to  rise  so 
high  by  other  than  the 
conventional  methods  for 
getting  on  in  the  world 
which  she  sanctioned. 

Real   and    fancied    ag- 
gressions continued 
throughout    the   year   of 
the  peace;  and  when  the 
break  finally  came,though 
both  nations  persisted  in 
declaring    that    they   did 
not  want  war,  both. were  in  a  thoroughly 
warlike  mood. 

THE    DESCENT    ON    ENGLAND. 

Napoleon's  preparations  against  England 
form  one  of  the  most  picturesque  military 
movements  in  his  career.  Unable  to  cope 


NAPOLEON    IN    1003. 

Painted  by  A.  GeYard  in  1803.    Engraved  by  Richomme  in  1835.    This  is  considered  by  many  the  best  portrait 
ol  Napoleon  painted  in  the  consulship. 


•with  his  enemy  at  sea,  he  conceived  the 
audacious  notion  of  invading  the  island, 
and  laying  siege  to  London  itself.  The 
plan  briefly  was  this — to  gather  a  great 
army  on  the  north  shore  of  France,  and  in 
some  port  a  flotilla  sufficient  to  transport 
it  to  Great  Britain.  In  order  to  prevent 
interference  with  this  expedition,  he  would 


keep  the  enemy's  fleet  occupied  in  the  Met! 
iterranean,  or  in  the  Atlantic,  until  the  crit- 
ical moment.  Then,  leading  the  English 
naval  commander  by  stratagem  in  the 
wrong  direction,  he  would  call  his  own 
fleet  to  the  Channel  to  protect  his  passage. 
He  counted  to  be  in  London,  and  to  have 
compelled  the  English  to  peace,  before 


By  J  B.  Isabey.  (Collection  of  M.  Edmond  Taigny  )  This  portrait  in  crayon,  lightly  touched  with  color, 
was  executed  at  Malmaison,  probably  in  the  course  of  the  year  1798.  It  is  very  little  known.  Isabey.  whose 
pencil  was  quick  and  sure,  must  have  requested  Josephine  to  pose  for  a  few  minutes  after  a  walk  in  the  park. 
This  sketch  was  given  to  M.  Taigny  by  Isabey  himself. — A.  D. 


Nelson   could   return    from    the  chase   he 
would  have  led  him. 

The  preparations  began  at  once.  The 
port  chosen  for  the  flotilla  was  Boulogne  ; 
but  the  whole  coast  from  Antwerp  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Seine  bristled  with  iron  and 
bronze.  Between  Calais  and  Boulogne,  at 
Cape  Gris  Nez,  where  the  navigation  was 


the  most  dangerous,  the  batteries  literally 
touched  one  another.  Fifty  thousand  men 
were  put  to  work  at  the  stupendous  exca- 
vations necessary  to  make  the  ports  large 
enough  to  receive  the  flotilla.  Large  num- 
bers of  troops  were  brought  rapidly  into 
the  neighborhood  :  fifty  thousand  men  to 
Boulogne,  under  Soult ;  thirty  thousand 


84 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


to  Etaples,  under  Ney  ;  thirty  thousand  u> 
Ostend,  under  Davoust ;  reserves  to  Arras, 
Amiens,  Saint-Omer. 

The  work  of  preparing  the  flat-bottomed 
boats,  or  walnut-shells,  as  the  English 
called  them,  which  were  to  carry  over  the 
army,  went  on  in  all  the  ports  of  Holland 
and  France,  as  well  as  in  interior  towns 
situated  on  rivers  leading  to  the  sea. 
The  troops  were  taught  to  row,  each  sol- 
dier being  obliged  to  practise  two  hours  a 
day,  so  that  the  rivers  of  all  the  north 
of  France  -were  dotted  with  land-lubbers 


J.    B.    ISABEV    AND    HIS    DAUGHTER. 


By  Baron  Gerard.  At  the  Louvre.  Isabey  was  born  at  Nancy  in  1767,  and  died 
at  Paris  in  1855.  He  made  several  pictures  of  Napoleon  in  pencil  and  in  oil,  and  many 
miniatures.  The  most  famous  of  these  are,  "Napoleon  at  Malmaison,"  "  The  Con- 
sular Review,"  the  thirty-two  designs  representing  "  The  Coronation  of  Napoleon," 
the  '•  Congress  of  Vienna,"  and  the  '•  Table  of  Marshals."  The  latter  is  executed  on 
Sevres  porcelain,  and  shows  Napoleon  surrounded  by  the  illustrious  generals  of  his 
time. 


handling  the  oar,  the  most  of  them  for  the 
first  time. 

In  the  summer  of  1803,  Napoleon  went 
to  the  north  to  look  after  the  work.  His 
trip  was  one  long  ovation.  Le  Chemin 
d  Angleterre  was  the  inscription  the  people 
of  Amiens  put  on  the  triumphal  arch 
erected  to  his  honor,  and  town  vied  with 
town  in  showing  its  joy  at  the  proposed 
descent  on  the  old-time  enemy. 

Such  was  the  interest  of  the  people,  that 
a  thousand  projects  were  suggested  to 
help  on  the  invasion,  some  of  them  most 
amusing.  In  a  learned 
and  thoroughly  serious 
memorial,  one  genius' 
proposed  that  while  the 
flotilla  was  preparing, 
the  sailors  be  employed 
in  catching  dolphins, 
which  should  be  shut  up 
in  the  ports,  tamed,  and 
taught  to  wear  a  harness, 
so  as  to  be  driven,  in  the 
water,  of  course,  as 
horses  are  on  land.  This 
novel  cavalry  was  to 
transport  the  French  to 
the  opposite  side  of  the 
Channel. 

Napoleon  occupied 
himself  not  only  with 
the  preparations  at  Bou- 
logne and  with  keeping 
Nelson  busy  elsewhere. 
Every  project  which 
could  possibly  facilitate 
his  undertaking  or  dis- 
comfit his  enemies,  he 
considered.  Fulton's 
diving-boat,  the  "  Nau- 
tilus, "and  his  submarine 
torpedoes,  were  at  that 
time  attracting  the  atten- 
tion of  the  war  depart- 
ments of  civilized  coun- 
tries. Already  Napoleon 
had  granted  ten  thou- 
sand francs  to  help  the 
inventor.  From  the 
camp  at  Boulogne  he 
again  ordered  the  matter 
to  be  looked  into.  Ful- 
ton promised  him  a  ma- 
chine which  "  would 
deliver  France  and  the 
whole  world  from  British 
oppression." 


"  I  have  just  read  the  pro- 
ject of  Citizen  Fulton,  engi- 
neer, which  you  have  sent  me 


THE  SALE   OF  LOUISIANA. 


much  too  late,"  he  wrote,  "  since  it  is  one  that  may 
change  the  face  of  the  world.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I 
desire  that  you  immediately  confide  its  examination 
to  a  commission  of  members  chosen  by  you  among 
the  different  classes  of  the  Institute.  There  it  is 
that  learned  Europe  would  seek  for  judges  to  resolve 
the  question  under  consideration.  A  great  truth,  a 
physical,  palpable  truth,  is  before  my  eyes.  It  will 
be  for  these  gentlemen  to  try  and  seize  it  and  see  it. 
As  soon  as  their  report  is  made,  it  will  be  sent  to 
you,  and  you  will  forward  it  to  me.  Try  and  let  the 
whole  be  determined  within  eight  days,  as  I  am  im- 
patient." 

He  had  his  eye  on  every  point  of  the 
earth  where  he  might  be  weak,  or  where 
he  might  weaken 
his  enemy.  Hetook 
possession  of  Han- 
over. The  Irish 
were  promised  aid 
in  their  efforts  for 
freedom.  "  P  r  o  - 
vided  that  twenty 
thousand  united 
Irishmen  join  the 
French  army  on  its 
landing,"  France  is 
to  give  them  in  re- 
t  u  r  n  twenty-five 
thousand  men,  forty 
thousand  muskets, 
with  artillery  and 
ammunition,  and  a 
promise  that  the 
French  government 
will  not  make  peace 
with  England  until 
the  independenceof 
Ireland  has  been 
proclaimed. 

An  attack  on 
India  was  planned, 
his  hope  being  that 
the  princes  of  India 
would  welcome  an 
invader  who  would 
aid  them  in  throw- 
ing off  the  English  yoke.  To  strengthen 
himself  in  the  Orient,  he  sought  by  letters 
and  envoys  to  win  the  confidence,  as  well  as 
to  inspire  the  awe,  of  the  rulers  of  Turkey 
and  Persia. 

The  sale  of   Louisiana   to    the    United 
States  dates  from  this  time.    This  transfer, 


TALMA.      1763-1826. 

By  Vigneron,  after  a  lithograph  by  Constans.  Through- 
out his  life  Napoleon  was  a  warm  friend  of  Talma.  He 
never  forgot  the  time  when,  disgraced  because  of  his  rela- 
tions with  Robespierre,  the  great  actor  had  been  his  friend, 
even  aiding  him  by  loans  of  money. 


stipulation  of  the  treaties  forbade  its  sale. 
But  Napoleon  was  not  of  a  nature  to  regard 
a  treaty,  if  the  interest  of  the  moment  de- 
manded it  to  be  broken.  To  sell  Louisiana 
now  would  remove  a  weak  spot  from 
France,  upon  which  England  would  surely 
fall  in  the  war.  More,  it  would  put  a  great 
territory,  which  he  could  not  control,  into 
the  hands  of  a  country  which,  he  believed, 
would  some  day  be  a  serious  hinderance  to 
English  ambition.  He  sold  the  colony 
for  the  same  reason  that  former  French 
governments  had  helped  the  United  States 
in  her  struggles  for  independence — to  crip- 
ple England.  It 

BHmn^HBBB  would  help  the 
United  States,  but 
it  would  hurt  Eng- 
land. That  was 
enough;  and  with 
characteristic 
eagerness  he  hurried 
through  the  nego- 
tiations. 

"  I  have  just  given 
England  a  maritime 
rival  which,  sooner 
or  later,  will  humble 
her  pride,"  he  said 
exultingly,  when  the 
convention  was 
signed.  The  sale 
brought  him  twelve 
million  dollars,  and 
the  United  States 
assumed  the 
French  spoliation 
claims. 

This  sale  of 
Louisiana  caused 
one  of  the  first  vio- 
lent quarrels  be- 
tween Lucien  Bona- 
parteand  Napoleon. 
Lucien  had  negoti- 
ated the  return  of 
the  American  territory  to  France  in  1800. 
He  had  made  a  princely  fortune  out  of 
the  treaty,  and  he  was  very  proud  of  the 
transaction  ;  and  when  his  brother  Joseph 
came  to  him  one  evening  in  hot  haste, 
with  the  information  that  the  General 
wanted  to  sell  Louisiana,  he  hurried  around 


of  such  tremendous  importance  to  us,  was    to  the  Tuileries  in  the  morning  to  remon- 
made  by  Napoleon  purely  for  the  sake  of    strate. 
hurting  England. 


France  had  been  in  pos- 
session of  Louisiana  but  three  years.  She 
had  obtained  it  from  Spain  only  on  the 


Napoleon  was  in  his  bath,  but,  in  the 
mode  of  the  time,  he  received  his  brothers. 
He  broached  the  subject  himself,  and 


condition  that  it  should  "  at  no  time,  under    asked  Lucien  what  he  thought. 


no  pretext,  and  in  no  manner,  be  alienated 
or  ceded  to  any  other  power."    The  formal 


"  I  flatter  myself  that  the  Chambers  will 
not  give  their  consent." 


NAPOLEON   THE    GREAT   ("NAPOLEON    LE    GRAND")   IN   CORONATION    ROBES.      1805. 

Painted  and  engraved  by  order  of  the  emperor.     Engraved  by  Desnoyers,  after  portrait  painted  by  Gerard  in  1805. 

"  You  flatter  yourself  ?  "  said  Napoleon.  Icon,  splashing  around  indignantly  in  the 

"  That's  good,  I  declare."  opaque  water. 

"  I  have  already  said  the  same  to  the  "  That  you  would  do  it  in  spite  of  the 

First  Consul,"  cried  Joseph.  Chambers." 

"  And  what  did  I  answer  ?  "  said  Napo-  "  Precisely.     I   shall  do  it  without   the 


88 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


consent  of  anyone  whomsoever.      Do  you 
understand  ?  " 

Joseph,  beside  himself,  rushed  to  the 
bathtub,  and  declared  that  if  Napoleon 
dared  do  such  a  thing  he  would  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  an  opposition  and  crush 
him  in  spite  of  their  fraternal  relations.  So 
hot  did  the  debate  grow  that  the  First  Con- 
sul sprang  up  shouting:  "You  are  insolent  ! 
I  ought —  -"  but  at  that  moment  he  slipped 
and  fell  back  violently.  A  great  mass  of 


perfumed  water  drenched    Joseph   to   the 
skin, .and  the  conference  broke  up. 

An  hour  later,  Lucien  met  his  brother  in 
his  library,  and  the  discussion  was  resumed, 
only  to  end  in  another  scene,  Napoleon 
hurling  a  beautiful  snuff-box  upon  the  floor, 
and  shattering  it  ;  while  he  told  Lucien 
that  if  he  did  not  cease  his  opposition  he 
would  crush  him  in  the  same  way.  These 
violent  scenes  were  repeated,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose. Louisiana  was  sold. 


CHAPTER    XL 

OPPOSITION    TO    NAPOLEON.— THE    ESTABLISHMENT    OF    THE    EMPIRE.— KING 

OF    ITALY. 


PLOT  AGAINST  THE  FIRST  CONSUL.  thizers  as  soon  as  the  First   Consul   was 

killed.     In  this  plot  was  associated  Piche- 

WHILE  the  preparation  for  the  invasion  gru,who  had  been  connected  with  the  i8th 
was  going  on,  the  feeling  against  England  Fructidor.  General  Moreau,  the  hero  of 
was  intensified  by  the  discovery  of  a  plot  Hohenlinden,  was  suspected  of  knowing 
against  the  life  of  the  First  Consul,  something  of  it. 
Georges  Ca- 
doudal,  a  fana- 
tical royalist, 
who  was  ac- 
cused of  being 
connected  with 
the  plot  of  the 
3d  Nivose  (De- 
cember 24),  and 
who  had  since 
been  in  Eng- 
land,  had 
formed  a  gi- 
gantic conspir- 
acy, having  as 
its  object  noth- 
inglessthanthe 
assassinationof 
Napoleon 


n 

broad  daylight, 
in  the  streets  of 
Paris. 

He  had  se- 
cured powerful 
aid  to  carry 
out  his  plan. 
The  Bourbon 
princes  sup- 
ported him,  and 
oneof  them  was 
to  land  on  the 
north  coast  to 
put  himself  at 
the  head  of  the 
royalist  sympa- 


It  came  to 
light  in  time, 
and  a  general 
arrest  was  made 
of  those  sus- 
pected of  being 
privy  to  it.  The 
first  to  be  tried 
and  punished 
was  the  Due 
d'Enghien,  who 
had  been  seized 
in  Ettenheim, 


EMPRESS   JOSEPHINE. 

From  a  pencil  sketch  made  by  David  in  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame 
at  the  time  of  Josephine's  coronation,  and  presented  to  his  son.  The 
original  is  now  in  the  Museum  of  Versailles. 


in  Baden,  a 
short  distance 
from  the  French 
frontier,  on  the 
su  ppo  sition 
that  he  had 
been  coming 
secretly  to  Paris 
to  be  present  at 
the  meetings  of 
the  conspira- 
tors. His  trial 
at  Vincennes 
was  short,  his 
execution  im- 
mediate. There 
is  good  reason 
to  believe  that 
Napoleon  had 
no  suspicion 
that  the  Due 
d'Enghien 


DEATH  OF   THE  DUG  D'ENGHIEN. 


89 


would  be  executed  so  soon  as  he  was,  and 
even  to  suppose  that  he  would  have  light- 
ened the  sentence  if  the  punishment  had 
not  been  pushed  on  with  an  irregularity 
and  inhumanity  that  recalls  the  days  of  the 
Terror. 

The  execution  was  a  severe  blow  to 
Napoleon's  popularity,  both  at  home  and 
abroad.  Fouche's  cynical  remark  was  just : 


members  of  Napoleon's  own  household  met 
him  with  averted  faces  and  sad  counte- 
nances, and  Josephine  wept  until  he  called 
her  a  child  who  understood  nothing  of 
politics.  Abroad  there  was  a  revulsion 
of  sympathy,  particularly  in  the  cabinets  of 
Russia,  Prussia,  and  Austria. 

The  trial  of  Cadoudal  and  Moreau  fol- 
lowed.    The    former   with   several  of  his 


NAPOLEON,  EMPEROR    OF   TFTE    FRENCH    AND    KING   OF   ITALY   ("NAPOLEON,  EMPEREUR    DES    FRAN£AIS,  ROI    D'lTALIE").        1805. 

Engraved  by  Audouin,  after  Charles  de  Chatillon. 

"The-  death    of    the    Due    d'Enghien    is  accomplices    was  executed.     Moreau    was 

worse  than  a  crime  ;  it  is  a  blunder."    Cha-  exiled  for  two  years.     Pichegru  committed 

teaubriand,  who    had   accepted    a    foreign  suicide  in  the  Temple. 

embassy,  resigned  at  once,  and  a  number 

of  the   old    aristocracy,  such   as    Pasquier 

and    Mole,1  who    had    been    saying  among 

themselves  that  it  was  their  duty  to  sup-        This    plot    showed    Napoleon    and    his 

port    Napoleon's    splendid    work   of  reor-  friends  that  a  Jacobin  or  royalist  fanatic 

ganization,  went  back  into  obscurity.     In  might  any  day  end  the  life  upon  which  the 

society    the    effect    was    distressing.     The  scheme  of  reorganization  depended.     It  is 


EMPEROR    OF    THE    FRENCH, 


THE    EMPEROR    NAPOLEON    IN    STATE   COSTUME   ("  I/EMPEREUR    EN    GRAND    COSTUME7').       1805. 

Engraved  by  Tardieu,  after  Isabey.  Title  piece  engraved  by  Malbeste,  after  Percier.  Isabey  became  intimate 
with  the  Bonapartes  during  the  Consulate  through  Hortense.  whose  drawing-master  he  had  been.  It  was  then  he 
executed  his  portraits  of  Bonaparte  at  Malmaison.  and  the  Review  of  the  Consular  Guard.  He  enjoyed  Napoleon's 
favor  throughout  the  Empire,  and  was  charged  by  him  to  execute  a  series  of  thirty-two  designs  to  commemorate  his 
coronation.  He  was  afterwards  Marie  Louise's  drawing-master. 


^^^\^'m  Vi 

J£ig38 

^^iLww- 


THE    EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE    IN    STATE   COSTUME   ("  L'lMrfERATRICE    EN    GRAND    COSTUME' 

Engraved  by  Audouin,  after  a  design  by  Isabey  and  Percier. 


THE   EMPEROR    NAPOLEON    IN   ORDINARY   COURT   COSTUME   ("l/EMPEREUR    EN    PETIT   COSTUME").       1805. 

Engraved  by  Ribault,  after  a  design  by  Isabey  and  Percier. 


•±L  ' ':  ^^%4.^  -  — :^Jj£:  ••* : .  •  iCS 

THE   EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE    IN   ORDINARY   COURT   COSTUME   ("  L'lMPERAT 

Engraved  by  Ribault,  after  a  design  by  Isabey 


'**,••-  o«  ,:••':.-•,  y^SFZA 
w«i«i^y^^a!a»H^~^*feaia 

E    IN   ORDINARY   COURT   COSTUME   ("  L'lMPfeRATRICE    EN    PETIT  COSTUME*').       1803. 

ngraved  by  Ribault,  after  a  design  by  Isabey  and  Percier. 


l-HINE,  EMPRESS  OF  THE  FRENCH  AND  QUEEN  OF  ITALY  ("  JOSEPHINE,  tMPlJRATKlCE  1JKS  FKANfAIS  ET 

KEINE  D'ITALIE).    1805. 
Designed  by  Buguet. 


true  he  had  already  been  made  First  Con- 
sul for  life  by  a  practically  unanimous  vote, 
but  there  was  need  of  strengthening  his 
position  and  providing  a  succession.  In 
March,  six  days  after  the  death  of  the 
Due  d'Enghien,  the  Senate  proposed  to 
him  that  he  complete  his  work  and  take 
the  throne.  In  April  the  Council  of  State 


and  the  Tribunate  took  up  the  discussion 
The  opinion  of  the  majority  was  voiced  by 
Regnault  de  Saint-Jean  d'Ange"ly  :  "  It  is  a 
long  time  since  all  reasonable  men,  all  true 
friends  of  their  country,  have  wished  that 
the  First  Consul  would  make  himself  em- 
peror, and  reestablish,  in  favor  of  his  family, 
the  old  principles  of  hereditary  succession. 


THE  NEW  COURT. 


95 


It  is  the  only  means  of  securing  permanency  enjoy  the  blessings  of  the  present;  guar- 

for  his  own  fortune,  and  to  the  men  whom  antee  to   us  the  future."     On  the  i8th  of 

merit  has  raised  to  high  offices.     The  Re-  May,    1804,   when    thirty-five    years    old, 

public,  which  I  loved  passionately,  while  I  Napoleon  was  first  addressed  as  "sire,"  and 

detested  the  crimes  of  the  Revolution,  is  congratulated     on    his   elevation    to    the 

now    in    my    eyes    a    mere   Utopia.      The  throne  of  the  French  people. 


NAPOLEON.       1805. 

("Napoleon  I.    Gall.  Imp.  Ital.  Rex.")    Designed  and  engraved  by  Longhi. 


First  Consul  has  convinced  me  that  he 
wishes  to  possess  supreme  power  only  to 
render  France  great,  free,  and  happy,  and  to 
protect  her  against  the  fury  of  factions." 

The  Senate  soon  after  proceeded  in 
a  body  to  the  Tuileries.  "  You  have  ex- 
tricated us  from  the  chaos  of  the  past," 
said  the  spokesman  ;  "  you  enable  us  to 


IMPERIAL    HONORS    AND    ETIQUETTE. 

Immediately  his  household  took  on  the 
forms  of  royalty.  His  mother  was  Madame 
Mere  ;  Joseph,  Grand-Elector,  with  the 
title  of  Imperial  Highness  ;  Louis,  Con- 
stable, with  the  same  title  ;  his  sisters  were 
Imperial  Highnesses.  Titles  were  given  to 


JOSEPHINE.       1804. 

Engraved  by  Weber  in  1814.    Painted  by  Lethiere. 

all  officials  ;  the  ministers  were  excellen-  his  old  generals,  Berthier,  Murat,  Moncey 

cies  ;  Cambaceres  and  Le  Brun,  the  Second  Jourdan,  Massena,  Augureau,  Bernadotte, 

Third  Consuls,  became  Arch  Chancellor  Soult,  Brune,   Lannes,  Mortier,   Ney,  Da- 

and  Arch   Treasurer  of  the   Empire.     Of  voust,  and  Bessieres  were  made  marshals. 


NAPOLEON.       1805. 

Engraved  by  Morghen,  after  Gerard,  in  1807.     Napoleon  wrote  a  letter  thanking  Morghen  for  the  beauty 
of  this  engraving,  and  subsequently  decorated  him  with  the  Legion  of  Honor. 


The  red  button  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
was  scattered  in  profusion.  The  title  of 
citoyen,  which  had  been  consecrated  by  the 
Revolution,  was  dropped,  and  hereafter 
everybody  was  called  monsieur. 

Two  of  Napoleon's  brothers,  unhappily, 
had  no  part  in  these  honors.     Jerome,  who 


had  been  serving  as  lieutenant  in  the  navy, 
had,  in  1803,  while  in  the  United  States, 
married  a  Miss  Elizabeth  Patterson  of  Bal- 
timore. Napoleon  forbade  the  recording 
of  the  marriage,  and  declared  it  void.  As 
Jerome  had  not  as  yet  given  up  his  wife, 
he  had  no  share  in  the  imperial  rewards. 


NAPOLEON'S  STATE  CARRIAGE. 


Lucien  was  likewise  omitted,  and  for  a 
similar  reason.  His  first  wife  had  died  in 
1801,  and  much  against  Napoleon's  wishes 
he  had  married  a  Madame  Jouberthon,  to 
whom  he  was  deeply  attached  ;  nothing 
could  induce  him  to  renounce  his  wife  and 
take  the  Queen  of  Etruria,  as  Napoleon 
wished.  The  result  of  his  refusal  was  a 
violent  quarrel  between  the  brothers,  and 
Lucien  left  France. 

This  rupture  was  certainly  a  grief  to 
Napoleon.  Madame  de  Remusat  draws  a 
pathetic  little  picture  of  the  effect  upon  him 
of  the  last  interview  with  Lucien  : 

"  It  was  near  midnight  when  Bonaparte  came  into 
the  room  ;  he  was  deeply  dejected,  and,  throwing 
himself  into  an  arm-chair,  he  exclaimed  in  a  troubled 
voice,  '  It  is  all  over  !  I  have  broken  with  Lucien, 
and  ordered  him  from  my  presence.'  Madame  Bona- 
parte began  to  expostulate.  '  You  are  a  good  woman,' 
he  said,  'to  plead  for  him.'  Then  he  rose  from  his 
chair,  took  his  wife  in  his  arms,  and  laid  her  head 
softly  on  his  shoulder,  and  with  his  hand  still  resting 
on  the  beautiful  head,  which  formed  a  contrast  to  the 
sad.  set  countenance  so  near  it,  he  told  us  that  Lucien 
had  resisted  all  his  entreaties, .and  that  he  had  resorted 
equally  in  vain  to  both  threats  and  persuasion.  '  It 
is  hard,  though,'  he  added,  '  to  find  in  one's  own 
family  such  stubborn  opposition  to  interests  of  such 
magnitude.  Must  I,  then,  isolate  myself  from  even- 
one  ?  Must  I  rely  on  myself  alone  ?  Well  !  I  will 


suffice  to  myself  ;  and  you,  Josephine — you  will  be-my 
comfort  always.'  " 


A  fever  of  etiquette  seized  on  all  the  in- 
habitants of  the  imperial  palace  of  Saint 
Cloud.  The  ponderous  regulations  of 
Louis  XIV.  were  taken  down  from  the 
shelves  in  the  library,  and  from  them  a 
code  began  to  be  compiled.  Madqme 
Campan,  who  had  been  First  Bedchamber 
Woman  to  Marie  Antoinette,  was  sum- 
moned to  interpret  the  solemn  law,  and  to 
describe  costumes  and  customs.  Monsieur 
de  Talleyrand,  who  had  been  made  Grand 
Chamberlain,  was  an  authority  who  was 
consulted  on  everything. 

"  \Ve  all  felt  ourselves  more  or  less  ele- 
vated,"-says  Madame  de  Remusat.  "  Van- 
ity is  ingenious  in  its  expectations,  and 
ours  were  unlimited.  Sometimes  it  was 
disenchanting,  for  a  moment,  to  observe 
the  almost  ridiculous  effect  which  this  agi- 
tation produced  upon  certain  classes  of 
society.  Those  who  had  nothing  to  do 
with  our  brand  new  dignities  said  with 
us  avenge  ourselves  by 
Jests,  more  or  less  witty, 
or  less  ingenious,  were 


Montaigne,  '  Let 
railing  at  them.' 
and    puns,   more 


lavished    on  these  new-made  princes,  and 


NAPOLEON  AT  BOULOGNE. 


99 


somewhat  disturbed  our  brilliant  visions  ; 
but  the  number  of  those  who  dare  to  cen- 
sure success  is  small,  and  flattery  was  much 
more  common  than  criticism." 

No  one  was  more  severe  in  matters  of  eti- 
quette than  Napoleon  himself.  He  studied 
the  subject  with  the  same  attention  that  he 
did  the  civil  code,  and  in  much  the  same 
way.  "In  concert  with  Monsieur de  Segur," 
he  wrote  De  Champagny,  "  you  must  write 
me  a  report  as  to  the  way  in  which  minis- 
ters and  ambassadors  should  be  received. 
It  will  be  well  for  you  to  enlighten 
me  as  to  what  was  the  practice  at  Ver- 
sailles, and  what  is  done  at  Vienna  and  St. 
Petersburg.  Once  my  regulations  adopted, 
everyone  must  conform  to  them.  I  am 
master,  to  establish  what  rules  I  like  in 
France." 

He  had  some  difficulty  with  his  old 
co  m  r  ades-in- 
arms,  who  were 
accustomed  t  o 
addressing  him 
in  the  familiar 
second  singular, 
and  calling  him 
Bonaparte,  and 
who  persisted, 
o  c  c  asion ally, 
even  after  he  was 
"  sire,"  in  using 
the  language  of 
easy  intimacy. 
Lannes  was  even 
removed  for 
some  time  from 
his  place  near 
the  emperor  for 
an  indiscretion 
of  this  kind. 


THE    FETE    OF 
BOULOGNE. 

In  August, 
1 804,  the  new 
emperor  visited 
Boulogne  to  re- 
ceive the  con- 
gratulations of 
h  i  s  army  and 
distribute  deco- 
rations. Hisvisit 
was  celebrated 
by  a  magnificent 
fete.  Those  who 
know  the  locality 
of  Boulogne,  re- 
member, north  of 


the  town,  an  amphitheatre-like  plain,  in 
the  centre  of  which  is  a  hill.  In  this  plain 
sixty  thousand  men  were  camped.  On 
the  elevation  was  erected  a  throne.  Here- 
by stood-  the  chair  of  Dagobert  ;  behind  it 
the  armor  of  Francis  I.  ;  and  around  rose 
scores  of  blood-stained,  bullet-shot  flags, 
the  trophies  of  Italy  and  Egypt.  Beside 
the  emperor  was  the  helmet  of  Bayard, 
filled  with  the  decorations  to  be  distrib- 
uted. Up  and  down  the  coast  were  the 
French  batteries  ;  in  the  port  lay  the  flo- 
tilla ;  to  the  right  and  left  stretched  the 
splendid  army. 

Just  as  the  ceremonies  were  finished,  a 
fleet  of  over  a  thousand  boats  came  sailing 
into  the  harbor  to  join  those  already  there, 
while  out  in  the  Channel  English  officers 
and  sailors,  with  levelled  glasses,  watched 
from  their  vessels  the  splendid  armament, 


NAl'ULE'iN,     1805. 

Engraved  in  1812  by  Massard,  after  Bouillou 


100 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


which  was  celebrating  its  approaching  de- 
scent on  their  shores. 


CORONATION  OF  NAPOLEON  AND  JOSEPHINE. 

On  December  ist  the  Senate  presented 
the  emperor  the  result  of  the  vote  taken 
among  the  people  as  to  whether  hereditary 
succession  should  be  adopted.  There  were 
two  thousand  five  hundred  and  seventy- 
nine  votes  against ;  three  million  five  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  thousand  for — a  vote 
more  nearly  unanimous  than  that  for  the 
life  consulate,  there  being  something  like 
nine  thousand  against  him  then. 

The  next  day  Napoleon  was  crowned  at 
Notre  Dame.  The  ceremony  was  prepared 
with  the  greatest  care.  Grand  Master  of 
Ceremonies  de  Segur,  aided  by  the  painter 
David,  drew  up  the  plan  and  trained  the 
court  with  great  severity  in  the  etiquette 
of  the  occasion.  He  had  the  widest  lib- 
erty, it  even  being  provided  that  "  if  it  be 
indispensable,  in  order  that  the  cortege 
arrive  at  Notre  Dame  with  greater  facility, 
to  pull  down  some  houses,"  it  should  be 
done.  By  a  master  stroke  of  diplomacy 
Napoleon  had  persuaded  Pope  Pius  VII. 
to  cross  the  Alps  to  perform  for  him  the 
solemn  and  ancient  service  of  coronation. 

Of  this  ceremony  we  have  no  better 
description  than  that  of  Madame  Junot  : 

' '  Who  that  saw  Notre  Dame  on  that  memorable 
day  can  ever  forget  it  ?  I  have  witnessed  in  that 
venerable  pile  the  celebration  of  sumptuous  and 
solemn  festivals  ;  but  never  did  I  see  anything  at 
all  approximating  in  splendor  the  spectacle  exhibited 
at  Napoleon's  coronation.  The  vaulted  roof  re- 
echoed the  sacred  chanting  of  the  priests,  who  in- 
voked the  blessing  of  the  Almighty  on  the  ceremony 
about  to  be  celebrated,  while  they  awaited  the  arrival 
of  the  Vicar  of  Christ,  whose  throne  was  prepared 
near  the  altar.  Along  the  ancient  walls  covered  with 
magnificent  tapestry  were  ranged,  according  to  their 
rank,  the  different  bodies  of  the  state,  the  deputies 
from  every  city  ;  in  short,  the  representatives  of  all 
France  assembled  to  implore  the  benediction  of 
Heaven  on  the  sovereign  of  the  people's  choice. 
The  waving  plumes  which  adorned  the  hats  of  the 
senators,  counsellors  of  state,  and  tribunes  ;  the  splen- 
did uniforms  of  the  military  ;  the  clergy  in  all  their 
ecclesiastical  pomp  ;  and  the  multitude  of  young  and 
beautiful  women,  glittering  in  jewels,  and  arrayed 
in  that  style  of  grace  and  elegance  which  is  only 
seen  in  Paris  ; — altogether  presented  a  picture  which 
has,  perhaps,  rarely  been  equalled,  and  certainly 
never  excelled. 

"The  Pope  arrived  first;  and  at  the  moment  of 
his  entering  the  Cathedral,  the  anthem  Tu  es  Petms 
was  commenced.  His  Holiness  advanced  from  the 
door  with  an  air  at  once  majestic  and  humble.  Ere 
long,  the  firing  of  a  cannon  announced  the  departure 
of  the  procession  from  the  Tuileries.  From  an  early 
hour  in  the  morning  the  weather  had  been  exceeding 
unfavorable.  It  was  cold  and  rainy,  and  appear- 
ances seemed  to  indicate  that  the  procession  would 


be  anything  but  agreeable  to  those  who  joined  it. 
But,  as  if  by  the  especial  favor  of  Providence,  of 
which  so  many  instances  are  observable  in  the  career 
of  Napoleon,  the  clouds  suddenly  dispersed,  the  sky 
brightened  up,  and  the  multitudes  who  lined  the 
streets  from  the  Tuileries  to  the  Cathedral,  enjoyed 
the  sight  of  the  procession  without  being,  as  they 
had  anticipated,  drenched  by  a  December  rain. 
Napoleon,  as  he  passed  along,  was  greeted  by  heart- 
felt expressions  of  enthusiastic  love  and  attachment. 

"On  his  arrival  at  Notre  Dame,  Napoleon  as- 
cended the  throne,  which  was  erected  in  front  of  the 
grand  altar.  Josephine  took  her  place  beside  him, 
surrounded  by  the  assembled  sovereigns  of  Europe. 
Napoleon  appeared  singularly  calm.  I  watched  him 
narrowly,  with  a  view  of  discovering  whether  his 
heart  beat  more  highly  beneath  the  imperial  trap- 
-pings  than  under  the  uniform  of  the  guards  ;  but  I 
could  observe  no  difference,  and  yet  I  was  at  the 
distance  of  only  ten  paces  from  him.  The  length  of 
the  ceremony,  however,  seemed  to  weary  him  ;  and  I 
saw  him  several  times  check  a  yawn.'  Nevertheless, 
he  did  everything  he  was  required  to  do,  and  aid  it 
with  propriety.  When  the  Pope  anointed  him  with 
the  triple  unction  on  his  head  and  both  hands,  I' 
fancied,  from  the  direction  of  his  eyes,  that  he  was 
thinking  of  wiping  off  the  oil  rather  than  of  anything 
else  ;  and  I  was  so  perfectly  acquainted  with  the 
workings  of  his  countenance,  that  I  have  no  hesita- 
tion in  saying  that  was  really  the  thought  that  crossed 
his  mind  at  that  moment.  During  the  ceremony  of 
anointing,  the  Holy  Father  delivered  that  impressive 
prayer  which  concluded  with  these  words  :  '  Diffuse, 

0  Lord,  by  my  hands,  the  treasures  of  your  grace 
and  benediction  on  'your  servant  Napoleon,  whom, 
in  spite  of   our  personal  unworthiness,   we  this  day 
anoint  emperor,   in  your  name.'     Napoleon  listened 
to  this  prayer  with  an  air  of  pious  devotion  ;  but  just 
as  the  Pope  was  about  to  take  the  crown,  called  the 
Crown  of    Charlemagne,   from  the  altar,    Napoleon 
seized  it,  and  placed  it  on  his  own  head.      At  that 
moment   he  was    really  handsome,    and  his  counte- 
nance was  lighted  up  with  an  expression  of   which 
no  words  can  convey  an  idea. 

"He  had  removed  the  wreath  of  laurel  which  he 
wore  on  entering  the  church,  and  which  encircles  his 
brow  in  the  fine  picture  of  Gerard.  The  crown  was, 
perhaps,  in  itself,  less  becoming  to  him  ;  but  the 
expression  excited  by  the  act  of  putting  it  on,  ren- 
dered him  perfectly  handsome. 

"  When  the  moment  arrived  for  Josephine  to  take 
an  active  part  in  the  grand  drama,  she  descended 
from  the  throne  and  advanced  towards  the  altar, 
where  the  emperor  awaited  her,  followed  by  her 
retinue  of  court  ladies,  and  having  her  train  borne 
by  the  Princesses  Caroline,  Julie,  Eliza,  and  Louis. 
One  of  the  chief  beauties  of  the  Empress  Josephine 
was  not  merely  her  fine  figure,  but  the  elegant  turn 
of  her  neck,  and  the  way  in  which  she  carried  her 
head  ;  indeed,  her  deportment  altogether  was  con- 
spicuous for  dignity  and  grace.  I  have  had  the 
honor  of  being  presented  to  many  real  princesses,  to 
use  the  phrase  .of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  but 

1  never  saw  one  who,  to  my  eyes,  presented  so  per- 
fect a  personification  of  elegance  and  majesty.     In 
Napoleon's  countenance  I  could  read  the  conviction 
of  all  I  have  just  said.     He  looked  with  an  air  of 
complacency  at  the  empress  as  she  advanced  towards 
him  ;  and  when    she   knelt   down,  when    the   tears, 
which  she  could  not  repress,  fell  upon    her  clasped 
hands,  as  they  were  raised  to  Heaven,  or  rather  to 
Napoleon,  both  then  appeared  to  enjoy  one  of  those 
fleeting  moments  of  pure  felicity  which  are  unique 
in  a  lifetime,  and  serve  to  fill  up  a  lustrum  of  years. 
The  emperor  performed,  with  peculiar  grace,  every 


102 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


action  required  of  him  during  the  ceremony  ;  but  his 
manner  of  crowning  Josephine  was  most  remarkable  : 
after  receiving  the  small  crown,  surmounted  by  the 
cross,  he  had  tirst  to  place  it  on  his  own  head,  and 
then  to  transfer  it  to  that  of  the  empress.  When 
the  moment  arrived  for  placing  the  crown  on  the 
head  of  the  woman  whom  popular  superstition  re- 
garded as  his  good  genius,  his  manner  was  almost 
playful.  He  took  great  pains  to  arrange  this  little 
crown,  which  was  placed  over  Josephine's  tiara  of 
diamonds  ;  he  put  it  on,  then  took  it  off,  and  finally 


was  of  especial  interest.  The  party  crossed 
the  Alps  by  Mont  Cenis,  and  the  road  was 
so  bad  that  the  carriages  had  to  be  taken  to 
pieces  and  carried  over,  while  the  travellers 
walked.  This  trip  really  led  to  the  fine 
roads  which  now  cross  Mont  Cenis.  At 
Alessandria  Napoleon  halted,  and  on  the 
field  of  Marengo  ordered  a  review  of  the 
manoeuvres  of  the  famous  battle.  At  this 


NATOI.EON    WITH   THE    IRON    CROWN    OF    LOMBAKDY. 

Designed  and  engraved  by  Longhi,  in  1812,  for  "  Vite  e  Ritratti  di  illustri  Italian*. " 


put  it  on  again,  as  if  to  promise  her  she  should  wear 
it  gracefully  and  lightly." 

The  fate  of  France  had  no  sooner  been 
settled,  as  Napoleon  believed,  than  it  be- 
came necessary  to  decide  on  what  should 
be  done  with  Italy.  The  crown  was  offered 
to  Joseph,  who  refused  it.  He  did  not 
want  to  renounce  his  claim  to  that  of 
France,  and  finally  Napoleon  decided  to 
take  it  himself.  A  new  constitution  was 
prepared  for  the  country  by  the  French 
Senate,  and,  when  all  was  arranged,  Na- 
poleon started  on  April  ist  for  Italy.  A 
great  train  accompanied  him,  and  the  trip 


review  he  even  wore  the  coat  and  hat  he  had 
worn  on  that  famous  day  four  years  before. 
By  the  time  the  imperial  party  was  ready 
to  enter  Milan,  on  May  13,  it  had  increased 
to  a  triumphant  procession,  and  the  entry 
was  made  amidst  most  enthusiastic  dem- 
onstrations. On  May  26  the  coronation 
took  place.  The  iron  crown,  used  for  so 
long,  for  the  coronation  of  the  Lombard 
kings,  had  been  brought  out  for  the  occa- 
sion. When  the  point  in  the  ceremony  was 
reached  where  the  crown  was  to  be  placed 
on  Napoleon's  head,  he  seized  it,  and  with 
his  own  hands  placed  it  on  his  head,  repeat- 
ing in  a  loud  voice  the  words  inscribed  on 


NAPOLEON. 


Engraved  by  Audouin,  after  Laurent.  This  portrait,  "  Josephine  impe'ratrice  des  Franfais,  reine  d  Italic,"  is  sur- 
rounded by  an  elaborate  frame  of  Imperial  emblems.  After  the  divorce,  Josephine  s  portrait  was  erased  from  the 
plate,  and  that  of  Marie  Louise  inserted. 

the  crown:  "God  gives  it  to  me;  beware  month,  engaged  in  settling  the  affairs  of 
who  touches  it."  Josephine  was  not  the  country.  The  order  of  the  Crown  of 
crowned  Queen  of  Italy,  but  watched  the  Iron  was  created,  the  constitution  settled, 


scene  from  a  gallery  above  the  altar. 


Prince    Eugene   was    made    viceroy,    and 


Napoleon  remained  in  Italy  for  another    Genoa  was  joined  to  the  Empire. 


NAPOLEON    REVIEWING    HIS   GUARDS. 

Lithographed  by  Raffet. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


CAMPAIGN    OF    1805.— CAMPAIGN    OF    1806-1807.— PEACE    OF    TILSIT. 


WAR    WITH    AUSTRIA. 

Austria  looked  with  jealousy  on  this 
accession  o.f  power,  and  particularly  on  the 
•change  in  the  institutions  of  her  neighbor. 
In  assuming  control  of  the  Italian  and  Ger- 
manic States,  Napoleon  gave  the  people  his 
code  and  his  methods  ;  personal  liberty, 
equality  before  the  law,  religious  tolera- 
tion, took  the  place  of  the  unjust  and  nar- 
row feudal  institutions.  These  new  ideas 
were  quite  as  hateful  to  Austria  as  the  dis- 
turbance in  the  balance  of  power,  and  more 
dangerous  to  her  system.  Russia  and 
Prussia  felt  the  same  suspicion  of  Napo- 
leon as  Austria  did.  All  three  powers  were 
constantly  incited  to  action  against  France 
by  England,  who  offered  unlimited  gold  if 
they  would  but  combine  with  her.  In  the 
summer  of  1805  Austria  joined  England 
and  Russia  in  a  coalition  against  France. 
Prussia  was  not  yet  willing  to  commit  her- 
self. 

The    great    army    which    for    so    many 


months  had  been  gathering  around  Bou- 
logne, preparing  for  the  descent  on  Eng- 
land, waited  anxiously  for  the  arrival  of 
the  French  fleet  to  cover  its  passage.  But 
the  fleet  did  not  come  ;  and,  though  hop- 
ing until  the  last  that  his  plan  would  still 
be  carried  out,  Napoleon  quietly  and 
swiftly  made  ready  to  transfer  the  army  of 
England  into  the  Grand  Army,  and  to  turn 
its  march  against  his  continental  enemies. 

Never  was  his  great  war  rule,  "  Time  is 
everything,"  more  thoroughly  carried  out. 
"Austria  will  employ  fine  phrases  in  order 
to  gain  time,"  he  wrote  Talleyrand,  "  and 
to  prevent  me  accomplishing  anything 
this  year  ;  and  in  April  I  shall 

find  one  hundred  thousand  Russians  in 
Poland,  fed  by  England,  twenty  thousand 
English  at  Malta,  and  fifteen  thousand 
Russians  at  Corfu.  I  should  then  be  in  a 
critical  position.  My  mind  is  made  up." 
His  orders  flew  from  Boulogne  to  Paris,  to 
the  German  States,  to  Italy,  to  his  generals, 
to  his  naval  commanders.  By  the  28th  of 


THE  CAPITULATION  OF   ULM. 


August  the  whole  army  had  moved.  A 
month  later  it  had  crossed  the  Rhine,  and 
Napoleon  was  at  its  head. 

The  force  which  he  commanded  was  in 
every  way  an  extraordinary  one.  Mar- 
mont's  enthusiastic  description  was  in  no 
way  an  exaggeration  : 

"  This  army,  the  most  beautiful  that  was  ever  seen, 
was  less  redoubtable  from  the  number  of  its  soldiers 
than  from  their  nature.  Almost  all  of  them  had  car- 
ried on  war  and  had  won  victories.  There  still  ex- 
isted among  them  something  of  the  enthusiasm  and 
exaltation  of  the  Revolutionary  campaigns  ;  but  this  en- 
thusiasm was  systematized.  From  the  supreme  chief 
down  —  the  chiefs  of  the  army  corps,  the  division  com- 
manders, the  common  officers  and  soldiers  —  everybody 
was  hardened  to  war.  The  eighteen  months  in  splendid 
camps  had  produced  a  training,  an  ensemble,  which 
has  never  existed  since  to  the  same  degree,  and  a 
boundless  confidence.  This  army  was  probably  the 
best  and  the  most  redoubtable 
that  modern  times  have  seen." 


The  force  responded  to 
the  imperious  genius  of 
its  commander  with  a 
beautiful  precision  which 
amazes  and  dazzles  one 
who  follows  its  march.  So 
perfectly  had  all  been  ar- 
ranged, so  exactly  did 
every  corps  and  officer 
respond,  that  nine  days 
after  the  passage  of  the 
Rhine,  the  army  was  in 
Bavaria,  several  marches 
in  the  rear  of  the  enemy. 
The  weather  was  terrible, 
but  nothing  checked 
them.  The  emperor  him- 
self set  the  example.  Day 
and  night  he  was  on 
horseback  in  the  midst 
of  his  troops  ;  once  for  a 
week  he  did  not  take  off 
his  boots.  When  they 
lagged,  or  the  enemy 
harassed  them,  he  would 
gather  each  regiment 
into  a  circle,  explain  to 
it  the  position  of  the 
enemy,  the  imminence  of 
a  great  battle,  and  his 
confidence  in  his  troops. 
These  harangues  some- 
times took  place  in  driv- 
ing snow-storms,  the 
soldiers  standing  up  to 
their  knees  in  icy  slush. 
By  October  i3th,  such 
was  the  extraordinary 
march  they  had  made, 


the  emperor  was  able  to  issue  this  address 
to  the  army  : 

"  Soldiers,  a  month  ago  we  were  encamped  on  the 
shores  of  the  ocean,  opposite  England,  when  an  im- 
pious league  forced  us  to  fly  to  the  Rhine.  Not  a 
fortnight  ago  that  river  was  passed  ;  and  the  Alps, 
the  Neckar,  the  Danube,  and  the  Lech,  the  cele- 
brated barriers  of  Germany,  have  not  for  a  minute 
delayed  our  march.  ,  .  .  The  enemy,  deceived 
by  our  manoeuvres  and  the  rapidity  of  our  movements, 
is  entirely  turned.  .  .  .  But  for  the  army  before 
you,  we  should  be  in  London  to-day,  have  avenged 
six  centuries  of  insult,  and  have  liberated  the  sea. 

"  Remember  to-morrow  that  you  are  fighting 
against  the  allies  of  England.  .  .  . 

"  NAPOLEON." 

Four  days  after  this  address  came  the 
capitulation  of  Ulm — a  "new  Caudine 
Forks,"  as  Marmont  called  it.  It  was,  as 


THE    EMPEROR. 

Bv  Char'.et. 


Engraved  by  Cousin,  after  Lefevre.  Lefevre  probably  painted  this  portrait  early  in  the  career  of  Napoleon.  It 
was  engraved  by  Cousin,  a  celebrated  mezzotint  engraver,  many  years  ago,  but  when  finished  Napoleon  "did  not 
sell."  It  therefore  was  laid  aside  until  1893,  when  this  print  was  made. 

Napoleon  said,  a  victory  won  by  legs,  in-  ninety  colors,  more  than   thirty  generals, 

stead  of  by  arms.     The  great  fatigue  and  at  a  cost  of  but  fifteen  hundred  men,  two- 

the  forced   marches  which   the  army  had  thirds  of  them  but  slightly  wounded, 
undergone  had  gained  them  sixty  thousand        But   there   was   no    rest    for  the   army. 

prisoners,  one  hundred  and  twenty  guns,  Before  the  middle  of  November  it  had  so 


BEFORE  AUSTERLJTZ. 


107 


surrounded  Vienna  that  the  emperor  and 
his  court  had  fled  to  Briinn,  seventy  or 
eighty  miles  north  of  Vienna,  to  meet  the 
Russians,  who,  under  Alexander  I.,  were 
coming  from  Berlin.  Thither  Napoleon 
followed  them,  but  the  Austrians  retreated 
eastward,  joining  the  Russians  at  Olmiitz. 
The  combined  force  of  the  allies  was  now 
some  ninety  thousand  men.  They  had  a 
strong  reserve,  and  it  looked  as  \i  the  Prus- 
sian army  was  about  to  join  them.  Napo- 
leon at  Briinn  had  only  some  seventy  or 
eighty  thousand  men,  and  was  in  the  heart 
of  the  enemy's  country.  Alexander,  flat- 
tered by  his  aides,  and  confident  that  he 
was  able  to  defeat  the  French,  resolved  to 
leave  his  strong  position  at  Olmiitz  and 
seek  battle  with  Napoleon. 

The  position  the  French  occupied  can 
be  understood  if  one  draws  a  rough  dia- 
gram of  aright-angled  triangle,  Briinn  being 
at  the  right  angle  formed  by  two  roads, 
one  running  south  to  Vienna,  by  which 
Napoleon  had  come,  and  the  other  running 
eastward  to  Olmiitz. 
The  hypothenuse  of  this 
angle,  running  from 
northeast  to  southwest, 
is  formed  by  Napoleon's 
army. 

When  the  allies  decided 
to  leave  Olmiitz  their  plan 
was  to  march  southwest- 
ward,  in  face  of  Napo- 
leon's line,  get  between 
him  and  Vienna,  and  thus 
cut  off  what  they  sup- 
posed was  his  base  of  sup- 
plies (in  this  they  were 
mistaken,  for  Napoleon 
had,  unknown  to  them, 
changed  his  base  from 
Vienna  to  Bohemia),  sep- 
arate him  from  his  Italian 
army,  and  drive  him, 
routed,  into  Bohemia. 

THE    BATTLE    OF    AUSTER- 
LITZ. 

On  the  27th  of  Novem- 
ber the  allies  advanced, 
and  their  first  encounter 
with  a  small  French  van- 
guard was  successful.  It 
gave  them  confidence, 
and  they  continued  their 
march  on  the  28th,  2pth, 
and  3oth,  gradually  ex- 
tending a  long  line  facing 
westward  and  parallel 


with  Napoleon's  line.  The  French  em- 
peror, while  this  movement  was  going  on, 
was  rapidly  calling  up  his  reserves  and 
strengthening  his  position.  By  the  first 
day  of  December  Napoleon  saw  clearly 
what  the  allies  intended  to  do,  and  had 
formed  his  plan.  The  events  of  that  day 
confirmed  his  ideas.  By  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening  he  was  so  certain  of  the  plan 
of  the  coming  battle  that  he  rode  the 
length  of  his  line,  explaining  to  his  troops 
the  tactics  of  the  allies,  and  what  he  him- 
self proposed  to  do. 

Napoleon's  appearance  before  the  troops, 
his  confident  assurance  of  victory,  called 
out  a  brilliant  demonstration  from  the 
army.  The  divisions  of  infantry  raised 
bundles  of  blazing  straw  on  the  ends  of 
long  poles,  giving  him  an  illumination  as 
imposing  as  it  was  novel.  It  was  a  happy 
thought,  for  the  day  was  the  anniversary 
of  his  coronation. 

The  emperor  remained  in  bivouac  all 
night.  At  four  o'clock  of  the  morning  of 


THE    EMPEROR   AT   THE    BIVOUAC. 

After  a  picture  by  Philippoteatix. 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


THE    KIGHT    HONORABLE    WILLIAM    PITT. 

Engraved  by  Cardon,  after  Eldridge,  1801.  Pitt,  born  May  28,  1759,  was  the  second  son  of 
William  Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham.  Before  he  was  fifteen,  sent  to  Cambridge,  where  he  made  a 
remarkable  record  in  mathematics  and  the  classics.  He  studied  law  in  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  at  the 
age  of  twenty-one  became  member  of  Parliament.  His  first  speech,  in  favor  of  economical  reform, 
made  a  great  impression.  At  twenty-three  he  was  made  a  member  of  the  cabinet  as  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer.  At  twenty-four  he  became  Premier,  with  an  opposition  including  Fox, 
Burke,  Sheridan,  and  North.  His  courage  and  determination  were  such  on  the  East  India 
Company  bill,  that  when  Parliament  was  dissolved,  and  "the  country  appealed  to,  he  was  sup- 
ported as  no  minister  in  England  had  been  for  generations.  He  secured  the  passage  of  several 
important  bills,  and  practically  did  away  with  the  opposition.  Whan  the  French  Revolution 
came  on,  he  at  first  indorsed  it,  but  was  revolted  by  its  atrocities.  He  tried  to  avoid  war  with 
France,  and  was  only  driven  into  it  by  public  opinion  ;  but  his  military  administration  was  feeble. 
The  king,  George  III.,  refusing  to  second  his  plans  for  Irish  relief.  Pitt  resigned  in  1801,  after 
eighteen  years  of  nearly  absolute  power.  When  the  treaty  of  Amiens  was  broken  in  1803,  he 
appeared  in  Parliament  again,  in  favor  of  war,  and  the  next  year  was  recalled  to  the  premier- 
ship. He  had  great  difficulty,  however,  with  his  cabinet,  and  Napoleon's  train  of  victories 
alarmed  him.  At  last  he  fell  sick  from  his  anxiety.  Trafalgar  aroused  him,  but  Austerlitz 
struck  him  a  blow  from  which  he  could  not  rally,  and  he  died  January  23,  1806.  He  was 
honored  with  a  public  funeral,  and  his  remains  were  placed  in  Westminster  Abbey. 


the  2d  of  Decem- 
ber he  was  in  the 
saddle.  When 
the  gray  fog  lifted 
he  saw  the  ene- 
my's divisions 
arranged  exactly 
as  he  had  divined. 
Three  corps  faced 
his  right  —  the 
southwest  part  of 
the  hypothenuse. 
These  corps  had 
left  a  splendid 
position  facing 
his  centre,  the 
heights  of  Pra- 
tzen. 

This  advance 
of  the  enemy  had 
left  their  centre 
weak  and  unpro- 
tected, and  had 
separated  the 
body  of  the  army 
from  its  right,  fac- 
i  n  g  Napoleon's 
left.  The  enemy 
was  in  exactly 
the  position  Na- 
poleon wished  for 
the  attack  he  had 
planned. 

It  was  eight 
o'clock  in  the 
morning  when  the 
emperor  galloped 
up  his  line,  pro- 
claiming to  the 
army  that  the 
enemy  had  ex- 
posed himself, 
and  crying  out  : 
"  Close  the  cam- 
paign with  a  clap 
of  thunder."  The 
generals  rode  to 
their  positions, 
and  at  once  the 
battle  opened. 
Soult,  who  com- 
manded  the 
French  centre,  at- 
tacked the  allies' 
centre  so  unex- 
pectedly that  it 
was  driven  into 
retreat.  The  Em- 
peror Alexander 
and  his  head- 
quarters were  in 


"NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE."'    IN  1806. 


Engraved  by  Lupton,  after  Robert  Lefevre.    Published  in  London  in  1818.      Original  in  the  collection 
of  the  Prince  Victor.    "  I  prefer  this  to  David's  celebrated  picture."— G.  G.  H. 


MARIE   PAULINE,    PRINCESS   BORGHESE. 

By  Robert  Lefevre.    Versailles  gallery.    This  picture  is  signed,  "  Robert  Lefevre  lecit,  1806."     It  was  shown  in  the 
Salon  of  1808,  and  obtained  a  brilliant  success. 


this  part  of  the  army,  and  though  the 
young  czar  did  his  best  to  rouse  his  forces, 
it  was  a  hopeless  task.  The  Russian  cen- 
tre was  defeated  and  the  wings  divided. 
At  the  same  time  the  allies'  left,  where  the 
bulk  of  their  army  was  massed  in  a  marshy 
country  of  which  they  knew  little, "was 


engaged  and  held  in  check  by  Davoust, 
and  their  right  was  overcome  by  Lannes, 
Murat,  and  Bernadotte.  As  soon  as  the 
centre  and  right  of  the  allies  had  been 
driven  into  retreat,  Napoleon  concentrated 
his  forces  on  their  left,  the  strongest  part  of 
his  enemy.  In  a  very  short  time  the  allies 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


were  driven  back  into  the  canals  and  lakes 
of  the  country,  and  many  men  and  nearly 
all  their  artillery  lost.  Before  night  the 
routed  enemy  had  fallen  back  to  Auster- 
litz. 

Of  all  Napoleon's  battles  Austerlitz  was 
the  one  of  which  he  was  the  proudest.  It 
was  here  that  he  showed  best  the  "divine 
side  of  war." 

The  familiar  note  in  which  Napoleon  an- 


Russians  and  thirty  thousand  Austrians.  I  have 
made  forty  thousand  prisoners,  taken  forty  flags,  one 
hundred  guns,  and  all  the  standards  of  the  Russian 
Imperial  Guard.  .  .  .  Although  I  have  bivouacked 
in  the  open  air  for  a  week,  my  health  is  good.  This 
evening  I  am  in  bed  in  the  beautiful  castle  of  Monsieur 
de  Kaunitz,  and  have  changed  my  shirt  for  the  first 
time  in  eight  days." 


The  battle  of  Austerlitz  obliged  Austria 
to  make  peace  (the  treaty  was  signed  at 
Presburg  on  December  26, 
1805),  compelled  Russia  to 
retire  disabled  from  the 
field,  transformed  the 
haughty  Prussian  ultima- 
tum which  had  just  been 
presented  into  humble  sub- 
mission, and  changed  the 
rejoicings  of  England  over 
the  magnificent  naval  vic- 
tory of  Trafalgar  (October 
2  ist)  into  despair.  It  even 
killed  Pitt.  It  enabled  Na- 
poleon, too,  to  make  enor- 
mous strides  in  establish- 
ing a  kingdom  of  the  West. 
Naples  was  given  to  Jo- 
seph, the  Bavarian  Repub- 
lic was  made  a  kingdom 
for  Louis,  and  the  states 
between  the  Lahn,  the 
Rhine,  and  the  Upper 
Danube  were  formed  into 
a  league,  called  the  Con- 
federation of  the  Rhine, 
and  Napoleon  was  made 
Protector. 


WAR    WITH    PRUSSIA    AND 
RUSSIA. 

At  the  beginning  of  1806 
Napoleon  was  again  in 
Paris.  He  had  been  absent 
but  three  months.  Eight 
months  of  this  year  were 
spent  in  fruitless  negotia- 
tions with  England  and  in 
an  irritating  correspond- 
ence with  Prussia.  The 
latter  country  had  many 

nounced  to  his  brother  Joseph  the  result  of    grievances  against  Napoleon,  the  sum  of 
the  battle,  is  a  curious  contrast  to  the  ora-    them  all  being  that  "French  politics  had 


JEAN    I.OU1S   ERNEST   MEtSSONlER.       1815-18 


Sketch  by  Meissonier  himself.  The  inscription  reads:  "My  dear  Chenavard, 
may  this  sketch  bear  witness  to  our  long-  and  good  friendship.  Meissonier,  1881." 
Meissonier  was  one  of  the  most  famous  genre  and  historical  painters  of  France. 
He  painted  a  large  number  of  pictures,  the  greatest  of  which  are  the  four  called 
the  "  Napoleon  Cycle." 


torical  bulletins  which  for  some  days  flowed    been  the  scourge  of  humanity  for  the  last 
to   Paris.     His  letter  is  dated  Austerlitz,    fifteen  years,"  and  that  an  "  insatiable  am- 
bition   was    still 


December  3,  1805 


was    still    the    ruling    passion    of 
France."     By  the  end  of  September  war 


"  After  manoeuvring  for  a  few  days  I  fought  a  declared   and  Naooleon   whose  oren- 

decisive  battle  yesterday.     I  defeated  the  combined  lb .            ,     7  f                               A 

armies  commanded  by 'the  Emperors  of  Russia  and  arations  had  been  conducted  secretly,  it 

Germany.     Their  force  consisted  of  eighty  thousand  being    given    out    that    he     Was    going    to 


n6 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


Compiegne  to   hunt,   suddenly  joined   his 
army. 

The  first  week  of  October  the  Grand 
Army  advanced  from  southern  Germany 
towards  the  valley  of  the  Saale.  This 
movement  brought  them  on  the  flanks  of 
the  Prussians,  who  were  scattered  along  the 
upper  Saale.  The  unexpected  appearanpe 
of  the  French  army,  which  was  larger  and 
much  better  organized  than  the  Prussian, 
caused  the  latter  to  retreat  towards  the 
Elbe.  The  retreating  army  was  in  two 
divisions;  the  first  crossing  the  Saale  to 
Jena,  the  second 
falling  back 
towards  the  Un- 
strut.  As  soon 
as  Napoleon 
understood 
these  move- 
ments he  de- 
spatched part  of 
his  force  under 
Davoust  and 
Bernadotte  to 
cut  off  the  re- 
treat  of  the 
second  Prussian 
division,  while 
he  himself  hur- 
ried on  to  Jena 
to  force  battle 
on  the  first.  The 
Prussians  .were 
encamped  at  the 
foot  of  a  height 
known  as  the 
Landgraf  en- 
berg.  To  com- 
mand this  height 
was  to  command 
the  Prussian 
forces.  By  a 
series  of  deter- 
mined and  re- 
peated efforts 
Napoleon  reached  the  position  desired,  and 
by  the  morning  of  the  i-jth  of  October  had 
his  foes  in  his  power.  Advancing  from 


HORACE   VERNET.       1789-1863. 

Portrait  by  Witkofski  in  the  gallery  at  Versailles. 


gaging  Brunswick  and  his  seventy  thousand 
men  with  a  force  of  twenty-seven  thousand. 
In  spite  of  the  great  difference  in  numbers 
the  Prussians  were  unable  to  make  any  im- 
pression on  the  French  ;  and  Brunswick 
falling,  they  began  to  retreat  towards  Jena, 
expecting  to  join  the  other  division  of  the 
army,  of  whose  route  they  were  ignorant. 
The  result  was  frightful.  The  two  flying 
armies  suddenly  encountered  each  other, 
and,  pursued  by  the  French  on  either  side, 
were  driven  in  confusion  towards  the 
Elbe. 

THE  ENTRY  INTO 
BERLIN— JENA, 
EYLAU,  AND 
FRIEDLAND. 

On  October 
25th  the  French 
were  at  Berlin. 
Their  entry  was 
one  of  the  great 
spectaclesof  the 
campaign.  One 
p  articu  1  a  rly 
touching  inci- 
dent of  it  was 
the  visit  paid  to 
Napoleon  by  the 
Protestant  and 
Calvinist  French 
clergy.  There 
were  at  that  time 
twelve  thousand 
French  refugees 
in  Berlin,  owing 
to  the  revoca- 
tion of  the  Edict 
of  Nantes. 
They  were  re- 
ceived  with 
kindness  by  Na- 
poleon, who  told 
them  they  had 
good  right  to 

protection,  and   that  their  privileges  and 

worship  would  be  respected. 

Jena  brought  Napoleon  something  like 


the  Landgrafenberg  in  three  divisions,  he    one  hundred  and  sixty  million   francs  in 


turned  the  Prussian  flanks  at  the  same 
moment  that  he  attacked  their  centre. 
The  Prussians  never  fought  better,  per- 
haps, than  at  Jena.  The  movements  of 
their  cavalry  awakened  even  Napoleon's 
admiration,  but  they  were  surrounded  and 
outnumbered,  and  the  army  was  speedily 
broken  into  pieces  and  driven  into  a  re- 
treat. 

While  Napoleon  was  fighting  at  Jena,  to 
the  right  at  Auerstadt,  Davoust  was   en- 


money,  an  enormous  number  of  prisoners, 
guns,  and  standards,  the  glory  of  the  entry 
of  Berlin,  and  a  great  number  of  interesting 
articles  for  the  Napoleon  Museum  of  Paris, 
among  them  the  column  from  the  field  of 
Rosbach,  the  sword,  the  ribbon  of  the  black 
eagle,  and  the  general's  sash  of  Frederick 
the  Great,  and  the  flags  carried  by  his 
guards  during  the  Seven  Years'  War.  But 
it  did  not  secure  him  peace.  The  King  of 
Prussia  threw  himself  into  the  arms  of  Rus- 


NAPOLEON    AT   JENA.       1806. 

After  Horace  Vernet.  This  picture  of  Napoleon  is  a  fragment  of  a  great  canvas  representing  the  battle 
of  Jena,  found  in  the  Hall  of  Battles  at  Versailles.  Vernet  was  commissioned  by  Louis  Philippe  to  paint  the 
great  battles  of  France  when  he  first  conceived  the  idea  of  converting  the  chateau  into  an  historical  museum. 
This  particular  picture  is  one  of  a  series,  including  the  battles  of  Friedland,  Jena,  and  Wagram.  It  appeared 
in  the  Salon  of  1836.  The  moment  chosen  by  Vernet  for  his  picture,  is  that  when  the  emperor,  accompanied 
by  Murat  and  Berthier,  heard  in  the  ranks  of  the  imperial  foot-guards  the  words  :  "  En  avant !  "  "  What  is 
that  ?  "  said  he.  "  It  can  only  be  a  beardless  boy  who  thinks  he  knows  what  I  ought  to  do.  Let  him  wait 
until  he  has  commanded  in  thirty  pitched  battles  before  he  presumes  to  give  me  advice."  It  was,  indeed,  one 
of  the  conscripts,  eager  to  show  his  courage. 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON 


NAPOLEON,    EMPEROR   OF  THE    FRENCH    AND    KING   OF    ITAI.V   ("NAPOLEON,  EMl'tiMn-n 
DBS   FRAN^AIS,    KOI    I/ITAI.IE ").       1806. 

Engraved  by  Arnold,  after  Datiling.  It  was  at  Berlin,  at  the  time  of  the  entry 
of  the  French  artny,  that  DShling  saw  the  emperor  and  made  his  portrait  in 
colors.  Masson  says  that  all  the  representations  of  Napoleon  from  1806  to  1815 
were  copied  after  this  design  of  DShling. 


sia,  and  Napoleon  ad- 
vanced boldly  into  Po- 
land to  meet  his  enemy. 

The  Poles  welcomed 
the  French  with  joy. 
They  hoped  to  find  'in 
Napoleon  the  liberator  of 
their  country,  and  they 
poured  forth  money  and 
soldiers  to  reenforce  him. 
"Our  entry  into  Varso- 
via,"  wrote  Napoleon, 
"was  a  triumph,  and  the 
sentiments  that  the  Poles 
of  all  classes  show  since 
our  arrival  cannot  be  ex- 
pressed. Love  of  coun- 
try and  the  national  senti- 
ment are  not  only  entirely 
conserved  in  the  heart  of 
the  people,  but  it  has  been 
intensified  by  misfortune. 
Their  first  passion,  their 
first  desire,  is  again  to 
become  a  nation.  The 
rich  come  from  their 
chateaux,  praying  for  the 
reestablishment  of  the 
nation,  and  offering  their 
children,  their  fortunes, 
and  their  influence." 
Everything  was  done 
during  the  months  the 
French  remained  in  Po- 
land, to  flatter  and  aid  the 
army. 

The  campaign  against 
the  Russians  was  carried 
on  in  Old  Prussia,  to  the 
southeast  of  the  Gulf  of 
Dantzic.  Its  first  great 
engagement  was  the 
battle  of  Eylau  on  Feb- 
ruary 8,  1807.  This  was 
the  closest  drawn  battle 
Napoleon  had  ever 
fought.  His  loss  was  en- 
ormous, and  he  was  saved 
only  by  a  hair's-breadth 
from  giving  the  enemy 
the  field  of  battle.  After 
Eylau  the  main  army 
went  into  winter  quarters 
to  repair  its  losses,  while 
Marshal  Lefebvre  be- 
sieged Dantzic,  a  siege 
which  military  critics  de- 
clare to  be,  after  Sebasto- 
pol,  the  most  celebrated 
of  modern  times.  Dant- 
zic capitulated  in  May. 


The  simple  date  that  Raffet  has  given  for  title  to  this  composition,  sums  up  the  great  military  events  :  Austerlitz. 
Jena,  Eylau,  Fried  land— that  preceded  the  treaty  of  Tilsit.  In  this  picture  the  artist,  with  admirable  sobriety  of 
method,  has  succeeded  in  giving  a  true  characterization  of  the  triumphant  attitude  of  the  conqueror  sitting  erect  on 
his  battle-horse,  which  seems  ready  to  spring  forward  to  fresh  victories. — A.  D. 


On  June  i4th  the  battle  of  Friedland  was 
fought.  This  battle,  the  anniversary  of 
Marengo,  was  won  largely  by  Napoleon's 
taking  advantage  of  a  blunder  of  his  op- 
ponent. The  French  and  the  Russian 
armies  were  on  the  opposite  banks  of 
the  Alle.  Benningsen,  the  Russian  com- 
mander, was  marching  towards  Konigsberg 
by  the  eastern  bank.  Napoleon  was  pur- 
suing by  the  western  bank.  The  French 
forces,  however,  were  scattered  ;  and  Ben- 
ningsen, thinking  that  he  could  engage  and 
easily  rout  a  portion  of  the  army  by  cross- 
ing the  river  at  Friedland,  suddenly  led  his 
army  across  to  the  western  bank.  Napo- 
leon utilized  this  unwise  movement  with 
splendid  skill.  Calling  up  his  reenforce- 
ments  he  attacked  the  enemy  solidly.  As 
soon  as  the  Russian  centre  was  broken, 
defeat  was  inevitable,  for  the  retreating 
army  was  driven  into  the  river,  and  thou- 
sands lost.  Many  were  pursued  through 
the  streets  of  Friedland  by  the  French,  and 
slaughtered  there.  The  battle  was  hardly 
over  when  Napoleon  wrote  to  Josephine  : 

"FRIEDLAND,  i$thjune,  1807. 
"  MY  FRIEND  :  I  write  you  only  a  few  words,  for  I 
am  very  tired.     I  have  been  bivouacking  for  several 
days.     My  children  have  worthily  celebrated  the  an- 
niversary of  Marengo.      The  battle  of  Friedland  will 


be  just  as  celebrated  and  as  glorious  for  my  peo- 
ple. The  whole  Russian  army  routed,  eighty  guns 
captured,  thirty  thousand  men  taken  prisoners  or 
killed,  with  twenty-five  generals  ;  the  Russian  guard 
annihilated  ;  it  is  the  worthy  sister  of  Marengo,  Aus- 
terlitz, and  Jena.  The  bulletin  will  tell  you  the  rest. 
My  loss  is  not  large.  I  successfully  out-manoeuvred 
the  enemy. 

"  NAPOLEON." 


PEACE    OF    TILSIT. 

Friedland  ended  the  war.  Directly  after 
the  battle  Napoleon  went  to  Tilsit,  which 
for  the  time  was  made  neutral  ground, 
and  here  he  met  the  Emperor  of  Russia 
and  the  King  of  Prussia,  and  the  map  of 
Europe  was  made  over. 

The  relations  between  the  royal  parties 
seem  to  have  been  for  the  most  part  amia- 
ble. Napoleon  became  very  fond  of  Alex- 
ander I.  at  Tilsit.  "Were  he  a  woman  I 
think  I  should  make  love  to  him,"  he  wrote 
Josephine  once.  Alexander,  young  and 
enthusiastic,  had  a  deep  admiration  for 
Napoleon's  genius,  and  the  two  became 
good  comrades.  The  King  of  Prussia, 
overcome  by  his  losses,  was  a  sorrowful 
figure  in  their  company.  It  was  their  habit 
at  Tilsit  to  go  out  every  day  on  horseback, 
but  the  king  was  awkward,  always  crowd- 
ing against  Napoleon,  beside  whom  he 


BATTLE   OF   FRIEDLAND,   JUNE    14,    1807. 

By  Horace  Vernet.    Versailles  gallery.    Vernet  depicts  the  emperor  on  the  battle-field,  giving  ordersto  the  general 
of  division,  Oudinot,  for  the  pursuit  of  the  enemy. 


rode,  and  making'his  two  companions  wait 
for  him  to  climb  from  the  saddle  when  they 
returned. 

Their  dinners  together  were  dull,  and  the 
emperors,  very  much  in  the  style  of  two 
careless,  fun-loving  youths,  bored  by  a 
solemn  elderly  relative,  were  accustomed 
after  dinner  to  make  excuses  to  go  home 
early  ;  but  later  they  met  at  the  apartments 
of  one  or  the  other,  and  often  talked  to- 
gether until  midnight. 

Just  before  the  negotiations  were  com- 
pleted, Queen  Louise  arrived,  and  tried  to 
use  her  influence  with  Napoleon  to  obtain 
at  least  Magdeburg.  Napoleon  accused 
the  queen  to  Las  Cases  of  trying  to  win 
him  at  first  by  a  scene  of  high  tragedy, 
but  when  they  came  to  meet  at  dinner,  her 
policy  was  quite  another.  "  The  Queen  of 
Prussia  dined  with  me  to-day,"  wrote  Na- 
poleon to  the  empress  on  July  7th.  "  I 
had  to  defend  myself  against  being  obliged 
to  make  some  further  concessions  to  her 
husband  ;  .  .  .  "  and  the  next  day,  "  The 
Queen  of  Prussia  is  really  charming  ;  she 


is  full  of  coquetterie  towards  me.  But  do 
not  be  jealous;  I  am  an  oilcloth,  off  which 
all  that  runs.  It  would  cost  me  too  dear 
to  play  \\\z  galant." 

The  intercessions  of  the  queen  really 
hurried  on  the  treaty.  When  she  learned 
that  it  had  been  signed,  and  her  wishes 
not  granted,  she  was  indignant,  wept  bit- 
terly, and  refused  to  go  to  the  second 
dinner  to  which  Napoleon  had  invited  her. 
Alexander  was  obliged  to  go  himself  to 
decide  her.  After  the  dinner,  when  she 
withdrew,  Napoleon  accompanied  her.  On 
the  staircase  she  stopped. 

"Can  it  be,"  she  said,  "  that  after  I  have 
had  the  happiness  of  seeing  so  near  me 
the  man  of  the  age  and  of  history,  I  am 
not  to  have  the  liberty  and  satisfaction  of 
assuring  him  that  ht  has  attached  me  for 
life?  ..." 

"  Madame,  I  am  to  be  pitied,"  said  the 
emperor  gravely.  "  It  is  my  evil  star." 

By  the  treaty  of  Tilsit  the  face  of  the 
continent  was  transformed.  Prussia  lost 
half  her  territory.  Dantzic  was  made  a 


MEETING  OF   FREDERICK    WILLIAM    III.,    KING   OF   FKUSSIA,    NAPOLEON,    AND    ALEXANDER    I.,    EMPEROK   OF    RUSSIA,    AT    .... 
THE    FIGURE   ON   THE    LEFT   IS   FREDERICK   WILLIAM  ;  THAT   ON   THE    RIGHT    IS   ALEXANDER. 

Engraved  by  Gttgel,  after  a  drawing  by  Wolff.  The  meeting  occurred  June  26, 1807,  in  the  pavilion  which  had  been 
erected  for  that  purpose  on  the  River  Nieman.  After  Friedland  the  Russians  crossed  the  Nieman  ;  the  French 
camped  on  the  banks  opposite  them.  The  first  interview  on  the  raft  was  between  the  Emperor  Alexander  and  Napo- 
leon alone  on  June  zsth.  The  two  emperors,  accompanied  by  their  staffs,  started  from  the  opposite  banks  at  the  same 
time ;  Napoleon  arrived  first,  passed  through  the  tent  and  met  Alexander.  The  two  embraced  warmly  in  sight 
of  the  two  armies,  who  cheered  them  loudly.  A  second  interview  took  place  the  next  day,  to  which  the  Emperor 
Alexander  brought  the  King  of  Prussia.  During  the  time  that  the  sovereigns  at  Tilsit  were  negotiating,  the  two 
armies  kept  their  positions,  and  friendly  relations  grew  up  between  them. 


free  town.  Magdeburg  went  to  France. 
Hesse-Cassel  and  the  Prussian  possessions 
west  of  the  Elbe  went  to  form  the  kingdom 
of  Westphalia.  The  King  of  Saxony  re- 
ceived the  grand  duchy  of  Warsaw.  Finland 
and  the  Danubian  principalities  were  to  go 
to  Alexander  in  exchange  for  certain  Ionian 
islands  and  the  Gulf  of  Cattaro  in  Dalmatia. 
Of  far  more  importance  than  this  change 
of  boundaries  was  the  private  understand- 
ing which  the  emperors  came  to  at  Tilsit. 
They  agreed  that  the  Ottoman  Empire  was 
to  remain  as  it  was  unless  they  saw  fit  to 
change  its  boundaries.  Russia  might  oc- 
cupy the  principalities  as  far  as  the  Dan- 
ube. Peace  was  to  be  made,  if  possible, 
with  England,  and  the  two  powers  were  to 
work  together  to  bring  it  about.  If  they 


failed,  Russia  was  to  force  Sweden  to  close 
her  ports  to  Great  Britain,  and  Napoleon 
was  to  do  the  same  in  Denmark,  Portugal, 
and  the  States  of  the  Pope.  Nothing  was 
to  be  done  about  Poland  by  Napoleon. 

According  to  popular  belief,  the  secret 
treaty  of  Tilsit  included  plans  much  more 
startling,  it  being  said  that  the  two  empe- 
rors pledged  themselves  to  each  other  for 
nothing  less  than  driving  the  Bourbons  from 
Spain  and  the  Braganzas  from  Portugal, 
and  replacing  them  by  Bonapartes  ;  for  giv- 
ing Russia  Turkey  in  Europe  and  as  much 
of  Asia  a?  she  wanted ;  for  ending  the 
temporal  power  of  the  Pope ;  for  placing 
France  in  Egypt  ;  for  shutting  the  English 
from  the  Mediterranean  ;  and  for  under- 
taking several  other  similar  enterprises. 


NAPOLEON    RECEIVING   QUEEN    LOUISE    OF   PRUSSIA,  JULV   6,  1807. 

By  Gosse.  Versailles  gallery.  On  the  arrival  of  the  Queen  of  Prussia  at  KSnigsberg,  the  emperor  descended  to 
the  street  to  meet  the  brave  and  beautiful  sovereign,  and  received  her  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  The  imperial  guard 
were  under  arms  ;  the  emperor  was  accompanied  by  the  Grand  Duke  of  Berg,  the  Marshals  Berthier  and  Ney,  General 
Duroc,  and  the  minister  of  foreign  affairs,  Talleyrand,  who  is  represented  in  this  picture  standing  on  the  steps. 


126 


THE   LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


EXTENSION    OF    NAPOLEON'S    EMPIRE.— FAMILY    AFFAIRS. 


Italy,    was 
a  princess  of 


KING    OF   KINGS.  I  have  made  him  King  of  Naples  ;  that  he  will  con- 

tinue  to  be  Grand   Elector,  and  that  nothing  will  be 

,    .    a               •     -T-,  changed  as  regards  his  relations  with  France.     But 

NAPOLEONS  influence  in  Europe  was  now  impr*ss  upon    him    that  the  least  hesitation,  the 

at    its  zenith.      He   was   literally   "king    of  slightest  wavering,  will  ruin  him  entirely.      I  have 

kings,"    as   he    was    popularly   called,    and  another  person  in  my  mind  who  will    replace    him 

the  Bonaparte  family  was  rapidly  displac-  should  he  refuse.    .    .    .    At  present  all  feelings  of 

ing  the  Bourbon..    Joseph  had  been  made  £SS&3XJSZ     ^"BCTk'S 

King  of    Naples   in  1806.      Eliza  was  Prm-    attached  to  the  name  of  Bonaparte,   but  to  that  of 

cessof  Lucques  and  Piom- 

bino.     Louis,   married   to 

Hortense,  had  been  King 

of    Holland    since     1806. 

Pauline  had  been  the  Prin- 

cess Borghese  since  1803  ; 

Caroline,  the  wife  of  Mu- 

rat,  was  Grand  Duchess  of 

Cleves  and  Berg;  Jerome 

was  King  of  Westphalia  ; 

Eugene    de    Beauharnais, 

Viceroy    of 

married   to 

Bavaria. 

The  members  of  Napo- 
leon's family  were  elevat- 
ed only  on  condition  that 
they  act  strictly  in  accord- 
ance with  his  plans.  They 
must  marry  so  as  to 
cement  the  ties  necessary 
to  his  kingdom.  The}7 
must  arrange  their  time, 
form  their  friendships, 
spend  their  money,  as  it 
best  served  the  interest  of 
his  great  scheme  of  con- 
quest. The  interior  affairs 
of  their  kingdoms  were  in 
reality  centralized  in  his 
hands  as  perfectly  as  those 
of  France.  He  watched 
the  private  and  public 
conduct  of  his  kings  and 
nobles,  and  criticised 
them  with  absolute  frank- 
ness and  extraordinary 
common  sense.  The 
ground  on  which  he  pro- 
tected them  is  well  ex- 
plained in  the  following 
letter,  written  in  January, 
1806,  to  Count  Miot  de 
Melito  : 


FREDERICK    WILLIAM    III.,    KING   OF    PRUSSIA. 


Engraved  by  Dickenson,  after  a  portrait  painted  in  1798  by  Lauer.  Frederick 
William  III.,  born  August  3,  1770,  was  the  eldest  son  of  Frederick  William  II.,  was 
trained  by  his  grand-uncle  Frederick  the  Great,  and  succeeded  to  his  father's  throne 
in  1797.  When  the  treaty  of  Lune"villc  ended  the  war  with  France  in  1801,  he  was 


"  You  are  going  to  rejoin  my 
-brother.     You  will  tell  him  that 


obliged  to  give  up  his  territory  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine.  He  remained  at 
peace  with  Napoleon  until  frightened  by  the  formation  of  the  Confederation  of  the 
Rhine  in  1806.  The  war  which  followed,  ending  in  the  treaty  of  Tilsit,  drove  him 
from  Berlin,  and  took  away  half  his  kingdom.  But  he  nevertheless  continued  his 
efforts  to  reorganize  his  state.  Frederick  joined  Napoleon  for  the  Russian  cam- 
paign, but  joined  the  coalition  of  1813.  After  Waterloo,  he  continued  to  improve 
his  kingdom,  though  he  never  gave  it  the  liberal  constitution  he  had  promised.  He 
died  June  7,  1840. 


NAPOLEON  AND   HIS  BROTHERS. 


127 


Napoleon.  It  is  with  my  fingers  and  with  my  pen 
that  I  make  children.  To-day  I  can  love  only  those 
whom  I  esteem.  Joseph  must  forget  all  our  ties  of 
childhood.  Let  him  make  himself  esteemed.  Let 
him  acquire  glory.  Let  him  have  a  leg  broken  in 
battle.  Then  I  shall  esteem  him.  Let  him  give  up 
his  old  ideas.  Let  him  not  dread  fatigue.  Look  at 
me  :  the  campaign  I  have  just  terminated,  the  move- 
ment, the  excitement,  have  made  me  stout.  I  believe 
that  if  all  the  kings  of  Europe  were  to  coalesce 
against  me,  I  should  have  a  ridiculous  paunch." 

Joseph,  bent  on  being  a  great  king, 
boasted  now  and  then  to  Napoleon  of  his 
position  in  Naples.  His  brother  never 
failed  to  silence  him  with  the  truth,  if  it 
was  blunt  and  hard  to  digest. 


LOUISE,    QUEEN   OF    PRUSSIA^.     1798. 

Engraved  by  Dickenson,  after  a  portrait  painted  in  1798  by  Lauer.  Louise, 
Queen  of  Prussia,  was  born  March  10. 1776,  in  Hanover.  Her  father  was  the  Duke 
Charles  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz,  and  her  mother  a  princess  of  Hesse-Darmstadt. 
In  1793  she  met  King  Frederick  William  III.  at  Frankfort.  He  was  so  enamored  of 
her  beauty  and  her  nobility  of  character  that  he  made  her  his  wife.  Queen  Louise's 
dignity  and  sweetness  under  the  reverses  her  kingdom  suffered  in  the  war  with 
France,  won  her  the  love  and  respect  of  her  people,  and  have  given  her  a  place 
among  the  most  lovable  and  admirable  women  of  history.  She  died  July  19,  1810, 
and  was  buried  at  Charlottenburg,5  where  a  beautiful  mausoleum  by  Rauch  has 
been  erected.  In  1814  her  husband  instituted  the  Order  of  Louise  in  her  honor. 
On  March  10,  1876,  the  Prussians  celebrated  the  one  hundredth  anniversary  of  her 
birth. 


' '  When  you  talk  about  the  fifty  thousand  enemies 
of  the  queen,  you  make  me  laugh.  .  .  .  You 
exaggerate  the  degree  of  hatred  which  the  queen  has 
left  behind  at  Naples  :  you  do  not  know  mankind. 
There  are  not  twenty  persons  who  hate  her  as  you 
suppose,  and  there  are  not  twenty  persons  who  would 
not  surrender  to  one  of  her  smiles.  The  strongest 
feeling  of  hatred  on  the  part  of  a  nation  is  that  in- 
spired by  another  nation.  Your  fifty  thousand  men 
are  the  enemies  of  the  French." 

With  Jerome,  Napoleon  had  been  par- 
ticularly incensed  because  of  his  marriage 
with  Miss  Patterson.  In  1804  he  wrote  of 
that  affair  : 

"  .  .  .  Jerome  is  wrong  to  think  that  he  will 
be  able  to  count  upon  any  weak- 
ness on  my  part,  for,  not  having 
the  rights  of  a  father,  I  cannot 
entertain  for  him  the  feeling  of 
a  father  ;  a  father  allows  him- 
self to  be  blinded,  and  it  pleases 
him  to  be  blinded  because  he 
identifies  his  son  with  himself. 
.  .  .  But  what  am  I  to  Je- 
rome ?  Sole  instrument  of  my 
destiny,  I  owe  nothing  to  my 
brothers.  They  have  made  an 
abundant  harvest  out  of  what  I 
have  accomplished  in  the  way  of 
glory ;  but,  for  all  that,  they  must 
not  abandon  the  field  and  deprive 
me  of  the  aid  I  have  a  right  to 
expect  from  them.  They  will 
cease  to  be  anything  for  me, 
directly  they  take  a  road  op- 
posed to  mine.  If  I  exact  so 
much  from  my  brothers  who 
have  already  rendered  many 
services,  if  I  have  abandoned 
the  one  who,  in  mature  age 
[Lucien],  refused  to  follow  my 
advice,  what  must  not  Jerome, 
who  is  still  young,  and  who  is 
known  only  for  his  neglect  of 
duty,  expect  ?  If  he  does  noth- 
ing for  me,  I  shall  see  in  this 
the  decree  of  destiny,  which  has 
decided  that  I  shall  do  nothing 
for  him. 


Jerome  yielded  later  to 
his  brother's  wishes,  and 
in  1807  was  rewarded  with 
the  new  kingdom  of  West- 
phalia. Napoleon  kept 
close  watch  of  him,  how- 
ever, and  his  letters  are 
full  of  admirable  counsels. 
The  following  is  particu- 
larly valuable,  showing, 
as  it  does,  that  Napoleon 
believed  a  government 
would  be  popular  and  en- 
during only  in  proportion 
to  the  liberty  and  prosper- 
itv  it  allowed  the  citi- 


JOSEl'H    ItONAPARTE    IN    HIS   CORONATION    ROBHS.       I? 

Engraved  by  C.  S.  Pradier  in  1813,  after  Gerard. 


"  What  the  German  peoples  desire  with  impa- 
tience [he  told  Jerome],  is  that  persons  who  are 
not  of  noble  birth,  and  who  have  talents,  shall  have 
an  equal  right  to  your  consideration  and  to  public 
employment  (with  those  who  are  of  noble  birth) ;  that 
every  sort  of  servitude  and  of  intermediate  obliga- 
tions between  the  sovereign  and  the  lowest  class  of 
the  people  should  be  entirely  abolished.  The  bene- 
fits of  the  Code  Napoleon,  the  publicity  of  legal  pro- 
cedure, the  establishment  of  the  jury  system,  will  be 
the  distinctive  characteristics  of  your  monarchy.  . 

.  I  count  more  on  the  effect  of  these  benefits  for 
the  extension  and  strengthening  of  your  kingdom, 
than  upon  the  result  of  the  greatest  victories.  Your 


people  ought  to  enjoy  a  liberty,  an  equality,  a  well- 
being,  unknown  to  the  German  peoples.  .  .  . 
What  people  would  wish  to  return  to  the  arbitrary 
government  of  Prussia,  when  it  has  tasted  the  bene- 
fits of  a  wise  and  liberal  administration  ?  The 
peoples  of  Germany,  France,  Italy,  Spain,  desire 
equality,  and  demand  that  liberal  ideas  should  pre- 
vail. .  .  .  Be  a  constitutional  king." 

Louis  in  Holland  was  never  a  king  to 
Napoleon's  mind.  He  especially  disliked 
his  quarrels  with  his  wife.  The  two  young 
people  had  been  married  for  state  reasons, 


MARIE  JULIE  CLARY,    QUEEN   OF  NAPLES.      1777-1845. 

By  Robert  Leffevre.  Versailles  gallery.  Julie  Clary  married  Joseph  Bonaparte,  the  ist  of 
August,  1794.  Her  husband  was  afterwards  King  of  Naples,  then  King  of  Spain.  In  the  can- 
vas of  Leffevre,  she  holds  by  the  hand  her  eldest  daughter,  Zenaide  Charlotte  Julie,  born  in  1801, 
afterwards  married  to  Charles,  Prince  de  Canino,  son  of  Lucien  Bonaparte. 


and  were  very  unhappy.  In  1807  Napo- 
leon wrote  Louis,  apropos  of  his  domestic 
relations,  a  letter  which  is  a  good  example 
of  scores  of  others  he  sent  to  one  and 
another  of  his  kings  and  princes  about 
their  private  affairs. 


"  You  govern  that  country  too  much  like  a  Capu- 
chin. The  goodness  of  a  king  should  be  full  of  maj- 
esty. ...  A  king  orders,  and  asks  nothing  from 


any  one.  .  .  .  When  people  say  of  a  king  that  he 
is  good,  his  reign  is  a  failure.  .  .  .  Your  quar- 
rels with  the  queen  are  known  to  the  public.  You 
should  exhibit  at  home  that  paternal  and  effeminate 
character  you  show  in  your  manner  of  governing.  . 
You  treat  a  young  wife  as  you  would  command 
a  regiment.  Distrust  the  people  by  whom  you  are 
surrounded  ;  they  are  nobles.  .  .  .  You  have  the 
best  and  most  virtuous  of  wives,  and  you  render  her 
miserable.  Allow  her  to  dance  as  much  as  she  likes  ; 
it  is  in  keeping  with  her  age.  I  have  a  wife  who  is 
forty  years  of  age  ;  from  the  field  of  battle  I  write  to 


THE  LIFE  OP   NAPOLEON. 


JOSEPH    BONAPARTE. 

Engraved  by  S.  W.  Reynolds  after  a  painting 
made  in  the  United  States,  in  1831,  by  J.  Goubaut. 

her  to  go  to  balls,  and  you  wish  a  young 
woman  of  twenty  to  live  in  a  cloister,  or,  like 
a  nurse,  to  be  always  washing  her  children. 
.  .  .  Render  the  mother  of  your  children 
happy.  You  have  only  one  way  of  doing 
so,  by  showing  her  esteem  and  confidence. 
Unfortunately  you  have  a  wife  who  is  too 
virtuous  :  if  you  had  a  coquette,  she  would 
lead  you  by  the  nose.  But  you  have  a  proud 
wife,  who  is  offended  and  grieved  at  the 
mere  idea  that  you  can  have  a  bad  opinion 
of  her.  You  should  have  had  a  wife  like 
some  of  those  whom  I  know  in  Paris.  She 
would  have  played  you  false,  and  you  would 
have  been  at  her  feet. 

"  NAPOLEON." 

With  his  sisters  he  was  quite  as 
positive.  While  Josephine  adapted 
herself  with  grace  and  tact  to  her 
great  position,  the  Bonaparte  sis- 
ters, especially  Pauline,  were  con- 
stantly irritating  somebody  "by 
their  vanity  and  jealousy.  The 
following  letter  to  Pauline  shows 
how  little  Napoleon  spared  them 
when  their  performances  came  to 
his  ears  : 

"MADAME  AND  DEAR  SISTER:  I  have 
learned  with  pain  that  you  have  not  the 
good  sense  to  conform  to  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  citv  of  Rome  ;  that  vou  show 


contempt  for  the  inhabitants,  and  that  your 
eyes  are  unceasingly  turned  towards  Paris. 
Although  occupied  with  vast  affairs,  I  never- 
theless desire  to  make  known  my  wishes,  and 
I  hope  that  you  will  conform  to  them. 

"  Love  your  husband  and  his  family,  be 
amiable,  accustom  yourself  to  th~  usages  of 
Rome,  and  put  this  in  your  head  :  that  if 
you  follow  bad  advice  you  will  no  longer  be 
able  to  count  upon  me.  You  may  be  sure 
that  you  will  find  no  support  in  Paris,  and 
that  I  shall  never  receive  you  there  without 
your  husband.  If  you  quarrel  with  him,  it 
will  be  your  fault,  and  France  will  be  closed 
to  you.  You  will  sacrifice  your  happiness 
and  my  esteem. 

"  BONAPARTE." 


This  supervision  of  policy,  rela- 
tions, and  conduct  extended  to  his 
generals.  The  case  of  General  Ber- 
thier  is  one  to  the  point.  Chief  of 
Napoleon's  staff  in  Italy,  he  had 
fallen  in' love  at  Milan  with  a  Ma- 
dame Visconti,  and  had  never  been 
able  to  conquer  his  passion.  In 
Egypt  Napoleon  called  him  "chief 
of  the  lovers'  faction,"  that  part  of 
the  army  which,  because  of  their 


ELISA   BACCIOCHI,  GRAND    DUCHESS   OF   TUSCANY,  ELDEST   SISTER  OF   NAPO- 
LEON   (1777-1820). 

Engraved  by  Morghen  in  1814,  after  Counis. 


MARIE    PAULINE    BONAPARTE,    PRINCESS    BORGHESE. 

This  graceful  portrait  of  the  most  beautiful  of  Napoleon's  sisters,  is  from  the  brush  of  Madame  Henoit,  and  belongs 
to  the  Versailles  collection. 


JOACHIM    MI/RAT   (1771-1615). 

Engraved  by  Ruotte,  after  Gros.  Murat  was  born  in  1771,  in  the  department  of  Lot.  He  was  destined 
for  the  Church,  but  abandoned  the  seminary  for  the  army.  When  Barras  called  Napoleon  to  the  defence 
of  the  convention,  the  :3th  Vendemiaire,  Murat  was  asked  to  aid,  and  for  his  services  he  was  made  an  aide- 
de-camp  of  Napoleon  in  Italy.  His  valor  at  Montenotte,  Ceva,  Dego,  and  Mondovi,  was  rewarded  by 
sending  him  to  Paris  with  the  first  flags  captured.  In  1798  he  went  to  Egypt.  He  aided  in  the  i8th  Bru- 
maire,  and  was  rewarded  with  the  command  of  the  consular  guard  and  the  hand  of  Caroline  Bonaparte. 
At  Marengo  he  led  the  French  cavalry,  and  was  afterwards  made  governor  of  the  Cisalpine  Republic.  In 
18:14  he  was  made  a  marshal  of  France, and  in  1805  grand  admiral,  with  the  title  of  prince.  He  commanded 
the  cavalry  of  the  Grand  Army  in  the  campaign  of  1805.  and  after  Austerlitz  was  made  grand  duke  of  Berg 
and  Cleves.  Murat  led  the  cavalry  at  Jena,  Eylau,  and  Friedland,  and  in  1808  was  made  general-in-chief 
of  the  French  armies  in  Spain.  Soon  after  he  became  King  of  Naples  under  the  title  of  King  Joachim  Napo- 
leon. During  the  retreat  from  Moscow  Napoleon  offended  him,  and  he  resigned  his  command  and  began 
to  intrigue  with  Austria.  In  January,  1814.  the  alliance  with  Austria  was  declared  by  Murat's  seizing 
Benevento,  while  Austria  promised  him  Ancona  for  thirty  thousand  men.  The  alliance  was  broken  by 
Murat's  declaration  that  he  intended  to  restore  the  unity  and  independence  of  Italy,  and  he  was  defeated  by 
the  Austrians,  May  2,  1815,  at  Tolentino.  He  escaped  to  France  and  offered  his  sword  to  Napoleon,  who 
refused  it.  After  Waterloo  he  was  refused  an  asylum  in  England,  and,  with  a  few  followers,  he  attempted 
p  retake  Naples,  but  was  deserted,  taken  prisoner,  and  shot  October  13,  1815. 


THE    QUEEN    OF   NAPLES   AND    MARIE    MUKAT. 

By  Madame  Vige'e-Lebrun.  This  canvas,  executed  in  1807,  is  in  the  museum  of  Versailles. 
Caroline  of  Naples  is  represented  with  her  eldest  child,  Marie  Laetitia  Josephe  Murat,  after- 
wards Countess  Pepoli. 


desire  to  see  wives  or  sweethearts,  were 
constantly  revolting  against  the  campaign, 
and  threatening  to  desert. 

In  1804  Berthier  had  been  made  marshal, 
and  in  1806  Napoleon  wished  to  give  him 
the  princedom  of  Neufchatel  ;  but  it  was 
only  on  condition  that  he  give  up  Madame 
de  Visconti,  and  marry. 


"  I  exact  only  one  condition,  which  is  that  you  get 
married.  Your  passion  has  lasted  long  enough.  It 
has  become  ridiculous  ;  and  I  have  the  right  to  hope 
that  the  man  whom  I  have  called  my  companion  in 
arms,  who  will  be  placed  alongside  of  me  by  poster- 
ity, will  no  longer  abandon  himself  to  a  weakness 
without  example.  .  .  .  You  know  that  no  one  likes 
you  better  than  I  do,  but  you  know  also  that  the  first 
condition  of  my  friendship  is  that  it  must  be  made 
subordinate  to  my  esteem." 


JEROME    BONAPARTE.       1808. 

"  Engraved  by  I.  G.  Mtiller,  knight,  and  Frederich  Muller,  son,  engravers  to  his  majesty  the  King  of 
WUrtemberg.  After  a  design  made  at  Cassel  by  Madame  Kinson."  Jerome  Bonaparte,  youngest  brother  of 
Napoleon,  was  born  in  Ajaccio,  1784  ;  died  near  Paris  in  1860.  Entered  the  navy  at  sixteen,  and  in  1801  was  sent 
on  the  expedition  to  Santo  Domingo.  On  his  return  went  to  the  United  States,  where,  in  1003,  he  married 
Miss  Elizabeth  Patterson  of  Baltimore.  Napoleon  refused  to  recognize  this  marriage,  ana  when  Jerome 
brought  his  wife  to  Europe  in  1805.  they  were  forbidden  France.  Jerome  continued  in  the  navy,  and  his  wife 
went  to  England.  In  1806  he  left  naval  for  military  service,  was  recognized  as  a  French  prince,  and  made 
successor  to  the  throne  in  event  of  Napoleon's  leaving  no  male  heirs.  After  Tilsit,  Jerome  was  made  King  of 
Westphalia,  a  new  kingdom  having  its  capital  at  Cassel,  and  was  married  to  Catherine,  daughter  of  the  King 
of  WUrtemberg.  The  campaign  of  1813  drove  him  to  Paris.  During  the  Hundred  Days  he  sat  in  the  chamber 
of  peers.  After  the  second  restoration  of  Louis  XVIII.  Jerome  lived  in  various  parts  of  Europe,  suffering  at 
one  time  serious  financial  embarrassment,  until,  in  1847,  he  was  allowed  to  return  to  Paris.  After  the  Revolu- 
tion of  1848  he  was  made  governor  of  the  Invalides  and  marshal.  In  1852  he  was  president  of  the  imperial 
senate.  Later  the  right  of  succession  was  given  him  and  his  son. 


NAPOLEON  IN  HIS  STUDY. 


'35 


Berthier  fled  to 
Josephine  for  help, 
weeping  like  a 
child;  butshecould 
do  nothing,  and  he 
married  the  woman 
chosen  for  him. 
Three  months  after 
the  ceremony,  the 
husbandof  Madame 
de  Visconti  died, 
and  Berthier, 
broken-hearted, 
wrote  to  the  Prince 
Borghese  : 

' '  You  know  how  often 
the  emperor  pressed  me 
to  obtain  a  divorce  for 
Madame  de  Visconti. 
But  a  divorce  was  al- 
ways repugnant  to  the 
feelings  in  which  I  was 
educated,  and  therefore 
I  waited.  To-day  Ma- 
dame de  Visconti  is  free, 
and  I  might  have  been 
the  happiest  of  men. 
But  the  emperor  forced 
me  into  a  marriage 
which  hinders  me  from 
uniting  myself  totheonly 
woman  I  ever  loved. 
Ah,  my  dear  prince,  all 
that  the  emperor  has 
done  and  may  yet  do  for 
me,  will  be  no  compen- 
sation for  the  eternal 
misfortune  to  which  he 
has  condemned  me." 


THE   EMPEROR 
THE  FRENCH 

1807. 


OF 
IN 


KING   OF    WESTPHALIA. 


Never  was  Napo- 
leon more  powerful 

than  at  the  end  of  the  period  we  have  been 
tracing  so  rapidly,  never  had  he  so  looked 
the  emperor.  An  observer  who  watched 
him  through  the  Te  Deum  sung  at  Notre 
Dame  in  his  honor,  on  his  return  from 
Tilsit,  says  :  "  His  features,  always  calm 
and  serious,  recalled  the  cameos  which 
represent  the  Roman  emperors.  He  was 
small  ;  still  his  whole  person,  in  this  im- 
posing ceremony,  was  in  harmony  with  the 
part  he  was  playing.  A  sword  glittering 
with  precious  stones  was  at  his  side,  and 
the  glittering  diamond  called  the  '  Regent ' 
formed  its  pommel.  Its  brilliancy  did  not 
let  us  forget  that  this  sword  was  the  sharpest 
and  the  most  victorious  that  the  world  had 
seen  since  those  of  Alexander  and  Caesar." 

Certainly  he  never  worked  more  prodi- 
giously.     The    campaigns   of    1805-1807 


By  Kinson.  Versailles  gallery.  This  picture  ought  to  be  catalogued  under  the  title, 
"  Portrait  of  King  Jerome  and  his  wife,  Fre'de'rigue  Catherine  Sophie  Dorothee,  Princess 
of  Wiirtemberg." 


were,  in  spite  of  their  rapid  movement, — 
indeed,  because  of  it, — terribly  fatiguing 
for  him  ;  that  they  were  possible  at  all  was 
due  mainly  to  the  fact  that  they  had  been 
made  on  paper  so  many  times  in  his  study. 
When  he  was  consul  the  only  room  open- 
ing from  his  study  was  filled  with  enormous 
maps  of  all  the  countries  of  the  world. 
This  room  was  presided  over  by  a  com- 
petent cartographer.  Frequently  these 
maps  were  brought  to  the  .study  and 
spread  upon  the  floor.  Napoleon  would 
get  down  upon  them  on  all  fours,  and  creep 
about,  compass  and  red  pencil  in  hand, 
comparing  and  measuring  distances,  and 
studying  the  configuration  of  the  land.  If 
he  was  in  doubt  about  anything,  he  re- 
ferred it  to  his  librarian,  who  was  expected 
to  give  him  the  fullest  details. 


MARRIAGE   OF  THE    PRINCE   JEROME    BONAPARTE   AND   THE    PRINCESS   CATHERINE   OF   WURTEMBERG,    AUGUST   22,    1807. 

By  Regnault.  This  picture  is  in  the  Versailles  gallery.  The  ceremony  of  contract,  here  represented  by  the  painter, 
took  place  in  the  Galerie  de  Diane  in  the  Tuileries.  Their  Majesties  were  seated  on  the  throne,  with  the  young  couple 
in  front  of  them.  Regnault  de  Saint-Jean  d*Angely,  secretary  of  state  to  the  imperial  family,  read  the  contract  of  mar- 
riage, which  was  signed  by  their  Majesties.  The  religious  ceremony  was  afterwards  celebrated  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Tuileries  by  the  prince  primate,  on  the  23d  of  August. 

Attached  to  his  cabinet  were  skilful  sian  campaigns  of  1805-1807,  Napoleon 
translators,  whose  business  was  not  only  showed,  as  never  before,  his  extraordinary 
to  translate  diplomatic  correspondence,  capacity  for  attending  to  everything.  The 


but  to  gather  from 
foreign  sources  full  in- 
formation about  the 
armies  of  his  enemies. 
Me"neval  declares  that 
the  emperor  knew  the 
condition  of  foreign 
armies  as  well  as  he  did 
his  own. 

The  amount  of  infor- 
mation he  had  about 
other  lands  was  largely 
due  to  his  ability  to  ask 
questions.  When  he 
sent  to  an  agent  for  a 
report,  he  rattled  at  him 
a  volley  of  questions, 
always  to  the  point ; 
andtheagent  knew  that 
it  would  never  do  to  let 
one  go  unanswered. 

While  carrying  on 
the  Austrian  and  Prus- 


ELIZA   BONAPARTE. 


Drawn  by  the  physionotrace,  by  Quenedey. 
The  physionotrace  was  an  instrument  invented  at 
the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  by  the  aid  of 
which  one  could  trace  portraits  mechanically. 


number  of  despatches 
he  sent  out  was  incred- 
ible. In  the  first  three 
months  of  1807,  while 
he  was  in  Poland,  he 
wrote  over  seventeen 
hundred  letters  and 
despatches. 

It  was  not  simply  war, 
the  making  of  king- 
doms, the  direction  of 
his  new-made  kings ; 
minor  affairs  of  the 
greatest  variety  occu- 
pied him.  While  at 
Boulogne,  tormented 
by  the  failure  of  the 
English  invasion  and 
the  war  against  Austria, 
he  ordered  that  horse 
races  should  be  estab- 
lished "in  those  parts 
of  the  empire  the  most 


NAPOLEON'S  CARE  OF  DETAILS. 


137 


remarkable  for  the  horses  they  breed  ;  prizes 
shall  be  awarded  to  the  fleetest  horses."  The 
very  day  after  the  battle  of  Friedland,  he 
was  sending  orders  to  Paris  about  the  form 
and  site  of  a  statue  to  the  memory  of  the 
Bishop  of  Vannes.  He  criticised  from 
Poland  the  quarrels  of  Parisian  actresses, 
ordered  canals,  planned  there  for  the 


terior  affairs  of  France.  This  care  of  details 
went,  as  Pasquier  says,  to  the  "  point  of 
minuteness,  or,  to  speak  plainly,  to  that  of 
charlatanism  ; "  but  it  certainly  did  produce 
a  deep  impression  upon  France.  That  he 
could  establish  himself  five  hundred  leagues 
from  Paris,  in  the  heart  of  winter,  in  a  coun- 
try encircled  by  his  enemies,  and  yet  be  in 


EMPRESS   JOSEPHINE. 

Fragment  from  the  picture  of  the  marriage  of  Jerome  Bonaparte  and  the  Princess  Catherine. 


Bourse  and  the  Odeon  Theatre.  The  news- 
papers he  watched  as  he  did  when  in  Paris, 
reprimanded  this  editor,  suspended  that, 
forbade  the  publication  of  news  of  disasters 
to  the  French  navy,  censured  every  item 
honorable  to  his  enemies.  To  read  the  bul- 
letins issued  from  Jena  to  Friedland,  one 
would  believe  that  the  writer  had  no  busi- 
ness other  than  that  of  regulating  the  in- 


daily  communication  with  his  capital,  could 
direct  even  its  least  important  affairs  as  if 
he  were  present,  could  know  what  every  per- 
son of  influence,  from  the  Secretary  of  State 
to  the  humblest  newspaper  man,  was  doing, 
caused  a  superstitious  feeling  to  rise  in 
France,  and  in  all  Europe,  that  the  emp.eror 
of  the  French  people  was  not  only  omnipo- 
tent, but  omnipresent. 


'38 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


LOUIS   BONAPAKTE.      1778-1846. 

King  of  Holland  in  1806.     Abdicated  in  1810, 
taking  the  title  of  Comte  de  St.  Leu. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE  BERLIN  DECREE.— WAR  IN 
THE  PENINSULA.  —  THE  BO- 
NAPARTES  ON  THE  SPANISH 
THRONE. 

THE    CONTINENTAL    BLOCKADE. 

WHEN  Napoleon,  in  1805,  was 
obliged  to  abandon  the  descent  on 
England  and  turn  the  magnificent 
army  gathered  at  Boulogne  against 
Austria,  he  by  no  means  gave  up  the 
idea  of  one  day  humbling  his  ene- 
my. Persistently  throughout  the 
campaigns  of  1805-1807  his  de- 
spatches and  addresses  remind 
Frenchmen  that  vengeance  is  only 
deferred. 

In  every  way  hestrivesto  awaken 
indignation  and  hatred  against 
England.  The  alliance  which  has 


compelled  him  to  turn  his  armies 
against  his  neighbors  on  the  Con- 
tinent, he  characterizes  as  an 
"unjust  league  fomented  by  the 
hatred  and  gold  of  England." 
He  tells  the  soldiers  of  the  Grand 
Army  that  it  is  English  gold 
which  has  transported  the  Rus- 
sian army  from  the  extremities 
of  the  universe  to  fight  them.  He 
charges  the  horrors  of  Austerlitz 
upon  the  English.  "May  all  the 
blood  shed,  may  all  these  misfor- 
tunes, fall  upon  the  perfidious 
islanders  who  have  caused  them  ! 
May  the  cowardly  oligarchies  of 
London  support  the  conse- 
quences of  so  many  woes  !  " 
From  now  on,  all  the  treaties  he 
makes  are  drawn  up  with  a  view 
to  humbling  "the  eternal  ene- 
mies of  the  Continent." 

Negotiations  for  peace  went 
on,  it  is  true,  in  1806,  between  the 
two  countries.  Napoleon  offered 
to  return  Hanover  and  Malta. 
He  offered  several  things  which 
belonged  to  other  people,  but 
England  refused  all  of  his  com- 
binations ;  and  when,  a  few  days 


El  GENIE    HORTENSE    DE    BEAUHARNAIS.       1783-1837. 

Daughter  of  Josephine,  wife  of  Louis,  King  of  Holland,  and  i 
of  Napoleon  III.     Eneraved  by  Laugier,  after  Girode^. 


El'GENIE   HOKTENSE,    QUEEN   OF    HOLLAND. 

Group  in  marble,  by  Monsieur  Eniile  Chatrousse.  Gallery  at  Versailles.  The  queen  has  at  her 
side  her  third  son,  Charles  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  afterwards  emperor  under  the  title  of  Napo- 
leon III. 


after  Jena,  he  addressed  his  army,  it  was 
to  tell  them  :  "We  shall  not  lay  down  our 
arms  until  we  have  obliged  the  English, 
those  eternal  enemies  of  our  nation,  to 
renounce  their  plan  of  troubling  the  Conti- 
nent and  their  tyranny  of  the  seas." 

A  month  later — November  21,  1806 — he 
proclaimed  the  famous  Decree  01  Berlin, 
his  future  policy  towards  Great  Britain.  As 
she  had  shut  her  enemies  from  the  sea,  he 
would  shut  her  from  the  land.  The  "con- 
tinental blockade,"  as  this  struggle  of  land 


against  sea  was  called,  was  only  using 
England's  own  weapon  of  war  ;  but  it  was 
using  it  with  a  sweeping  audacity,  thor- 
oughly Napoleonic  in  conception  and  in 
the  proposed  execution.  Henceforth,  all 
communication  was  forbidden  between  the 
British  Isles  and  France  and  her  allies. 
Every  Englishman  found  under  French 
authority — and  that  was  about  all  Europe 
as  the  emperor  estimated  it — was  a  prisoner 
of  war.  Every  dollar's  worth  of  English 
property  found  within  Napoleon's  bounda- 


140 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


EL'GENE     DE     UEAUHARNAIS,    NAPOLEON'S     STEPSON.        ("  EUGENIC    NAPOLEONS,    PRINCE 
DI    FRANCIA,    VICE    RE   D'lTALIA,    1813.") 

Engraved  by  Longhi,  after  Gerard,  Milan,  1813.  Eugene  de  Dcauharnais,  son 
of  Josephine  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie  and  the  Viscount  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais, 
was  born  in  Paris  in  1781.  The  property  of  his  father  having  been  confiscated, 
Eugene  was  apprenticed  to  a  cabinet-maker,  but,  fortune  changing,  he  was  em- 
ployed on  the  staff  of  General  Hoche.  After  the  marriage  of  Josephine  and  Bona- 
parte, the  latter  took  his  stepson  with  him  into  Italy,  and  sent  him  on  a  mission 
to  Corfu.  He  accompanied  General  Bonaparte  to  Egypt,  and  v.-as  wounded  at 
Saint-Jean  d'Acre.  He  rose  steadily  in  military  rank,  and  when  the  Empire  was 
established  was  made  prince,  and  in  1805  Archchancellor  of  State.  When  Napoleon 
took  the  iron  crown,  Eugene  was  made  Viceroy  of  Italy.  He  governed  his  king- 
dom with  wisdom  and  fidelity.  In  1806  Eugene  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  the 
King  of  Bavaria,  and  adopted  by  Napoleon,  who  declared  that  in  case  he  had  no 
direct  heir  he  intended  giving  him  the  crown  of  Italy.  When  the  Austrian  war  of 
1809  broke  out,  an  army  invaded  Italy,  and  Eugene  was  defeated  in,  a  first  battle, 
but,  rallying,  he  gained  a  series  of  victories,  ending  with  that  of  Raab,  which 
Napoleon  called  the  "granddaughter  of  Marengo."  It  was  Eugene  and  his  sister 
Hortense  that  Napoleon  charged  to  prepare  Josephine  for  the  divorce,  and  the 
former  explained  to  the  Senate  the  reasons  for  the  act.  He  took  so  distinguished 
apart  in  the  Russian  campaign  that  Napoleon  said  :  l>  Eugene  is  the  only  one  who  has 
not  committed  blunders  in  this  war."  In  1813  and  1814  he  fought  with  great  skill 
against  the  allies.  The  final  overthrow  of  Napoleon  took  his  kingdom  from  him. 
He  retired  then  to  the  court  of  the  King  of  Bavaria,  his  father-in-law,  who  made 
him  Duke  of  Leuchtenberg  and  Prince  of  Eichstadt.  He  died  in  1824  at 
Munich. 


ries,  whether  it  belonged 
to  rich  trader  or  inoffensive 
tourist,  was  prize  of  war. 
If  one  remembers  the  ex- 
tent of  the  seaboard  which 
Napoleon  at  that  moment 
commanded,  the  full  peril 
of  this  menace  to  English 
commerce  is  clear.  From 
St.  Petersburg  to  Trieste 
there  was  not  a  port,  save 
those  of  Denmark  and  Por- 
tugal, which  would  not 
close  at  his  bidding.  At 
Tilsit  he  and  Alexander 
had  entered  into  an  agree- 
ment to  complete  this  sea- 
board, to  close  the  Baltic, 
the  Channel,  the  European 
Atlantic,  and  the  Mediter- 
ranean to  the  English. 
This  was  nothing  else  than 
asking  Continental  Europe 
to  destroy  her  commerce 
for  their  sakes. 

There  were  several  seri- 
ous uncertainties  in  the 
scheme.  What  retaliation 
would  England  make? 
Could  Napoleon  and 
Alexander  agree  long 
enough  to  succeed  in  divid- 
ing the  valuable  portions 
of  the  continents  of  Europe, 
Asia,  and  Africa  ?  Would 
the  nations  cheerfully  give 
up  the  English  cottons  and 
tweeds  they  had  been  buy- 
ing, the  boots  they  had 
been  wearing,  the  cutlery 
and  dishes  they  had  been 
using?  Would  they  cheer- 
fully see  their  own  prod- 
ucts lie  uncalled  for  in 
their  warehouses,  for  the 
sake  of  aiding  a  foreign 
monarch  —  although  the 
most  brilliant  and  power- 
ful on  earth — to  carry  out 
a  vast  plan  for  crushing  an 
enemy  who  was  not  their 
enemy  ?  It  remained  to 
be  seen. 

In  the  meantime  there 
was  the  small  part  of  the 
coast  line  remaining  inde- 
pendent to  be  joined  to  the 
portion  already  blockaded 
to  the  English.  There  was 
no  delay  in  Napoleon's 
action.  Denmark  was 


BERNADOTTE.      ABOUT   1798. 

Engraved  by  Fiesinger,  after  Guerin.  Bernadotte  (J.  D.  Jules)  was  born  at  Pau,  in  1764  ; 
entered  the  Royal  Marine  at  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  was  sergeant  in  1789.  In  1792  entered 
the  Army  of  the  North,  where  he  served  with  honor.  He  entered  the  Army  of  Italy  in  1797, 
and.  although  suspicious  of  Bonaparte's  ambition,  he  served  him  valiantly,  and  was  one  of  those 
sent  to  Paris  with  captured  flags.  Was  an  active  supporter  of  the  coup  d^etat  of  the  i8th 
Fructidor,  and  was  ambassador  at  Vienna  after  the  treaty  cf  Campo  Formio.  Bernadotte 
married  the  Desiree  Clary,  sister-in-law  of  Joseph  Donaparte,  \vhom  Napoleon,  in  1795,  had 
thought  of  making  his  wife.  In  1799  he  served  in  the  Rhenish  armies.  He  disapproved  of  the 
i8th  Brumaire,  but  after  it  accepted  the  command  of  the  Army  of  the  West.  In  1804  he  was 
made  marshal,  and  later.  Prince  of  Pontc-Corvo.  In  the  Austrian  war  of  1805  Bernadotte 
played  an  important  part,  and  again  in  the  campaign  of  1807.  In  1810  the  Swedish  States 
proclaimed  him  prince  royal  and  heir-presumptive  of  Sweden.  He  was  received  as  a  son  by 
Charles  XIII.,  and  during  the  life  of  that  monarch  Bernadotte  surrounded  him  by  a  really 
fiiial  care.  In  1812  he  entered  the  coalition  against  Bonaparte.  At  first  he  tried  to  act  as  a 
mediator,  but  this  failing,  he  led  his  army  against  the  French,  defeating  Ney  and  Oudinot,  and 
deciding  the  battle  of  Leipsic.  But  he  took  no  part  in  the  invasion  of  France.  In  1818,  on 
the  death  of  Charles  XIII..  he  was  proclaimed  King  of  Norway  and  Sweden,  and  took  the  name 
of  Charles  Jean  IV.,  though  he  is  usually  called  Charles  XIV.  He  held  the  throne  for  twenty- 
six  years.  His  son  Oscar  succeeded  him  on  his  death  in  1844. 


MARIE    PAULINE    BONAPARTE. 


Born  at  Ajaccio,  October  20,  1780;  died  at  Florence,  June  9,  1825.  She  tirst  married  Gen- 
eral Leclerc,  who  died  during  the  expedition  of  Saint  Domingo,  and  afterwards  Camillo 
Borghese. 


ordered  to  choose  between  war  with  Eng- 
land and  war  with  France.  Portugal  was 
notified  that  if  her  ports  were  not  closed 
in  forty  days  the  French  and  Spanish 
armies  would  invade  her.  England  gave 
a  drastic  reply  to  Napoleon's  measures. 
In  August  she  appeared  before  Copen- 
hagen, seized  the  Danish  fleet,  and  for 
three  days  bombarded  the  town.  This  un- 
justifiable attack  on  a  nation  with  which 
she  was  at  peace  horrified  Europe,  and  it 
supported  *  he  emperor  in  pushing  to  the 
uttermost  the  Berlin  Decree.  He  made  no 


secret  of  his  determination.  In  a  diplo- 
matic audience  at  Fontainebleau,  October 
14,  1807,  he  declared  : 

"  Great  Britain  shall  be  destroyed.  I  have  the 
means  of  doing  it,  and  they  shall  be  employed.  I 
have  three -hundred  thousand  men  devoted  to  this 
object,  and  an  ally  who  has  three  hundred  thousand 
to  support  them.  I  will  permit  no  nation  to  receive 
a  minister  from  Great  Britain  until  she  shall  have 
renounced  her  maritime  usages  and  tyranny  ;  and  I 
desire  you,  gentlemen,  to  convey  this  determination 
to  your  respective  sovereigns." 

Such  an  alarming  extent  did  the  block- 


Drawn  by  John  Trumbull.  Signed  "J.  T.,  1808."  In  the  "  Trumbull  Gallery  of  Revolutionary  Sketches," 
owned  by  Professor  Edward  Frossard  of  Brooklyn,  New  York.  The  face  is  entirely  in  bold  pen-and-ink  work, 
with  uniform  and  background  finished  in  sepia.  Under  the  bust  is  a  locket  surrounded  by  a  border  of  hair  work. 
Set  in  the  frame  beneath  this  is  a  smaller  locket  containing  a  bit  of  unwoven  hair.  On  the  back  of  the  frame  is 
pasted  a  piece  of  paper  bearing  the  inscription  in  ink,  written  in  Trumbull's  own  hand  :  "Napoleon  at  44  with 
Parents  Hair— his  Hair  in  small  case— J.  T."  The  statement  of  the  inscription,  "  Napoleon  at  44,"  does  not  agree 
with  the  date  on  the  picture,  1808,  since  Napoleon  was  not  forty-four  until  1813.  The  error  is  undoubtedly  in  the 
inscription,  and  is  of  a  sort  into  which  anybody  might  fall.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  Trumbull  drew  a  face  studied 
from  life,  though  the  production  may  have  been,  probably  was.  from  memory.  On  several  occasions  he  spent  some 
time  in  Paris,  and  on  one  occasion  he  dined  with  Talleyrand,  and  talked  with  Lucien  Bonaparte,  who  sat  beside 
him  at  table,  "on  the  subject  of  his  brother  s  wonderful  success."  David  was  his  intimate  friend.  It  is  not  at 
all  unlikely,  therefore,  that  Trumbull  had  opportunities  to  studv  the  living  features  of  Napoleon  ;  and,  such 
opportunities  occurring,  he  was  not  the  man  to  neglect  them.  But,  however  produced,  the  portrait  is  certainly 
one  of  peculiar  interest  and  value. 


144 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


N.    C.    OL'DINOT,    DUC   DE    REGGIO.      1767-1847. 

Engraved  by  Foster,  after  Lefevre.  Oudinot,  Nicolas 
Charles,  was  born  at  Bar-le-duc,  son  of  a.  merchant.  Left 
commerce  for  the  army  ;  in  1791  he  was  made  chief  of  bat- 
talion, and  three  years  later  general  of  brigade.  The  same 
year  he  received  five  wounds  and  was  taken  prisoner,  re- 
maining captive  until  1796.  He  next  served  under  Moreau, 
and  in  1799  was  sent  to  the  army  of  Helvetia,  where  he 
distinguished  himself  in  the  battle  of  Zurich.  Oudinot 
was  with  Masse"na  in  the  siege  of  Genoa  (i8co),  and  in  180^ 
•was  commander  of  a  division  of  the  camp  of  Bruges.  In 
1805  he  received  the  grand  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 
In  the  campaign  of  1805  he  greatly  distinguished  himself 
at  the  head  of  ten  thousand  grenadiers,  called  the  grena- 
diers Oudinot.  For  his  services  in  the  campaign  of  i8c6- 
1807  he  was  made  count,  and  in  1808  governor  of  Erfurt, 
where  Napoleon  presented  him  to  Alexander  I.  as  the  Bay- 
ard of  the  army.  The  baton  of  marshal  and  the  title  of 
Duke  of  Reggio  were  given  him  after  Wagram.  Oudinot 
was  wounded  early  in  the  Russian  campaign,  but  on  hear- 
ing of  the  disasters  returned  to  his  command,  and  at  the 
terrible  passage  of  the  Beresina  he  performed  prodigies  of 
valor.  Throughout  the  campaign  of  1813  and  the  invasion 
the  next  year  he  was  active,  and  only  laid  down  arms  after 
Napoleon's  abdication.  He  joined  Louis  XVIII.,  and  re- 
fused to  leave  him  during  the  hundred  days.  In  1823  he 
served  in  the  Spanish  campaign.  He  was  made  governor  of 
the  Invalides  in  1842,  a  post  he  held  until  his  death  in  1847. 

ade  threaten  to  take,  that  even  our  minis- 
ter to  France,  Mr.  Armstrong,  began  to  be 
nervous.  His  diplomatic  acquaintances  told 
him  cynically,  "  You  are  much  favored,  but 
it  won't  last  ;  "  and,  in  fact,  it  was  not  long 
before  it  was  evident  that  the  United  States 
was  not  to  be  allowed  to  remain  neutral. 


"  Sinc-3  America  suffers  her  vessels  to  be  searched, 
she  adopts  the  principle  that  the  flag  does  not  cover 
the  goods.  Since  she  recognizes  the  absurd  block- 
ades laid  by  England,  consents  to  having  her  vessels 
incessantly  stopped,  sent  to  England,  and  so  turned 
aside  from  their  course,  why  should  the  Americans 
not  suffer  the  blockade  laid  by  France  ?  Certainly 
France  is  no  more  blockaded  by  England  than  Eng- 
land by  France.  Why  should  Americans  not  equally 
suffer  their  vessels  to  be  searched  by  French  ships  ? 
Certainly  France  recognizes  that  these  measures  are 
unjust,  illegal,  and  subversive  of  national  sovereignty; 
but  it  is  the  duty  of  nations  to  resort  to  force,  and  to 
declare  themselves  against  things  which  dishonor  them 
and  disgrace  their  independence." 


WAR    WITH    PORTUGAL. 

The  attempt  to  force  Portugal  to  close 
her  ports  caused  war.  In  all  but  one  par- 
ticular she  had  obeyed  Napoleon's  orders  : 
she  had  closed  her  ports,  detained  all  Eng- 
lishmen in  her  borders,  declared  war  ;  but 
her  king  refused  to  confiscate  the  property 
of  British  subjects  in  Portugal.  This  eva- 
sion furnished  Napoleon  an  excuse  for 
refusing  to  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  her 
pretensions.  "  Continue  your  march,"  he 
wrote  to  Junot,  who  had  been  ordered  into 
the  country  a  few  days  before  (October  12, 
1807).  "I  have  reason  to  believe  that 


MARIE    ANNA    £LSA    liUNAI'AKTE. 


Born  at  Ajaccio,  January  3,  1777,  Princess  of  Lucqucs 


Napoleon's    notice    to    Mr.    Armstrong  was     and  of  Piombino,  Grand  Duchess  of  Tuscany,  wife  of  Count 
Clear  and  decisive  :  Bacciochi.    Died  at  Trieste,  August  7,  1820. 


MARSHAL  NEY   ("  LE    MARljCHAL   NEY,  DUG    D?ELCHINGEN,  PRINCE    DE    LA   MOSKOVVA,  FAIR   DE 

FRANCE  "). 

Engraved  by  Tardieu,  after  Ge'rard.  Ney  (Michel)  was  born  at  Sarrelouis  in  1769 ;  entered 
the  army  at  nineteen  years  of  age.  In  1792  Ney  entered  the  Army  of  the  North,  where  he  soon 
attracted  attention  by  his  bravery  and  skill,  winning  the  title  of  the  Indefatigable.  In  1794  he 
was  made  chief  of  brigade,  and  two  years  later  general  of  brigade.  He  served  in  the  Army 
of  the  Rhine  and  of  the  Danube  until  the  peace  of  Luneville  in  1801.  Returning  to  Paris, 
Napoleon  succeeded  in  attaching  him  to  his  fortunes,  and  sent  him  to  Switzerland  as  minister 
plenipotentiary  to  propose  that  the  Helvetian  Republic  be  placed  under  the  protectorate  of 
France.  When,  in  1803,  war  was  declared  against  England,  Ney  was  recalled  from  Switzer- 
land, where  he  had  succeeded  in  his  negotiations,  and  sent  to  the  north  to  command  a  corps  of 
the  Army  of  Invasion.  In  1804  he  was  named  marshal  and  given  the  grand  cordon  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  In  the  campaign  of  1805  against  Austria,  Ney  played  a  brilliant  part,  as 
well  as  in  those  of  1806  and  1807.  His  audacity,  military  skill,  and  bravery  won  him  various  titles 
from  his  soldiers,  such  as  the  "  Brave  of  Braves,"  the  "  Red  Lion  "'  (Ney's  hair  was  red),  and 
"  Peter  the  Red."  When  Napoleon  instituted  his  new  nobility,  after  Tilsit,  Ney  was  made  Duke 
of  Elchingen.  During  1809  and  i?io  he  served  in  Spain,  but,  quarreling  with  Massena,  his 
commander-in-chief,  he  was  obliged  to  return  to  France.  In  the  Russian  campaign  no  one 
distinguished  himself  more  than  Ney.  For  his  services  at  the  battle  of  Moskowa  he  was  made 
Prince  of  Moskowa.  When  Louis  XVIII.  was  restored,  Ney  joined  the  Bourbons,  and  was 
rewarded  with  high  honors,  but  at  court  his  wife  was  ridiculed  by  the  ancient  nobility,  until, 
deeply  wounded,  he  left  Paris.  He  was  in  command  at  Besangon  when  Napoleon  returned 
from  Elba,  and  was  ordered  to  take  his  former  master  prisoner.  Ney  started,  promising  to 
"  bring  back  Bonaparte  in  an  iron  cage  "  ;  but  the  enthusiasm  over  the  imperial  cause  was  so 
great  that  he  made  up  his  mind  that  the  cause  of  the  Bourbons  was  lost,  and  went  over  to 
Napoleon.  He  was  convicted  of  treason,  and  shot  in  Paris,"  December  7,  1815. 


146 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


there  is  an  understanding  with  England, 
so  as  to  give  the  British  troops  time  to 
arrive  from  Copenhagen." 

Without  waiting  for  the  results  of  the 
invasion,  he  and  the  King  of  Spain  divided 
up  Portugal  between  them.  If  their  ac- 
tion was  premature,  Portugal  did  nothing 
to  gainsay  them ;  for  when  Junot  arrived 
at  Lisbon  in  December,  he  found  the  coun- 
try without  a  government,  the  royal  family 
having  fled  in  fright  to  Brazil.  There  was 
only  one  thing  now  to  be  done  ;  Junot 
must  so  establish  himself  as  to  hold  the 
country  against  the  English,  who  naturally 
would  resent  the 
injury  done 
their  ally.  From 
St.  Petersburg 
to  Trieste,  Na- 
poleon now  held 
the  seaboard. 


THE  SPANISH 
THRONE  GIV- 
EN TO  A  BO- 
NAPARTE. 

But  he  was 
not  satisfied. 
Spain  was  be- 
tween him  and 
Portugal.  If  he 
was  going  to 
rule  Western 
Europe  he 
ought  to  pos- 
sess her.  There 
is  no  space  here 
to  trace  the  in- 
trigues with  the 
weak  and  vi- 
cious factions 
of  the  Spanish 
court,  which 
ended  in  Napo- 
leon's persuad- 
ing Charles  IV. 
to  c  ed  e  h  i  s 
rights  to  the 
Spanish  throne 
and  to  become 
his  pensioner, 
and  Ferdinand, 
the  heir  appar- 
ent, to  abdicate  ; 
and  which 
placed  Joseph 
Bonaparte, 
King  of  Naples, 
on  the  Spanish 
throne,  and  put 


GENERAL   FOY.      ABOUT    1820. 

Engraved  by  Lefevre,  after  Horace  Vernet.  Foy  (Maximilian 
Sdbastien),  born  at  Ham  in  1775,  entered  the  artillery  school  at  fifteen, 
and  assisted  as  lieutenant  at  the  battle  of  Jammapes.  Arrested  for 
contra-revolutionary  talk,  Foy  was  imprisoned,  but  was  released  after 
the  gth  Thermidor.  He  afterwards  served  in  the  Army  of  the  Rhine 
under  Masse'na,  and  made  the  German  campaign  of  1800  under 
Moreau.  He  voted  against  the  life  consulate  and  the  empire,  and 
showed  an  opposition  to  the  growth  of  imperialism  which  hurt  his 
advancement.  After  the  battle  of  Vimeiro,  in  1808,  he  was  named  gen- 
eral of  brigade,  and  later  general  of  division.  He  fought  in  Spain  until 
the  evacuation  of  the  country.  Under  the  restoration  Foy  served  as  an 
inspector-general  of  artillery  ;  but  he  joined  Napoleon  on  his  return, 
fought  at  Waterloo,  and  went  into  retirement  afterwards.  In  1819 
he  was  elected  deputy,  and  almost  at  once  he  showed  himself  an 
orator  of  unusual  power.  He  was  a  pure  constitutionalist,  and  gave 
all  h:s  efforts  to  holding  the  Bourbons  to  the  charter.  He  died  in 
November,  1825. 


Murat,  Charlotte  Bonaparte's  husband,  in 
Joseph's  place. 

From  beginning  to  end  the  transfer  of 
the  Spanish  crown  from  Bourbon  to  Bona- 
parte was  dishonorable  and  unjustifiable. 
It  is  true  that  the  government  of  Spain 
was  corrupt.  No  greater  mismanagement 
could  be  conceived,  no  more  scandalous 
court.  Unquestionably  the  country  would 
have  been  far  better  off  under  Napoleonic 
institutions.  But  to  despoil  Spain  was  to 
be  false  to  an  ally  which  had  served  him 
for  years  with  fidelity,  and  at  an  awful  cost 
to  herself.  It  is  true  that  her  service  had 

been  through 
fear,  not  -love. 
It  is  true  that 
at  one  critical 
moment  (when 
Napoleon  was 
in  Poland,  in 
1807)  she  had 
tried  to  escape  ; 
but,  neverthe- 
less, it  remained 
a  fact  that  for 
France  Spain 
had  lost  colo- 
nies, sacrificed 
men  and  money, 
and  had  seen 
her  fl  e  e  t  go 
down  at  Trafal- 
gar. In  taking 
her  throne,  Na- 
poleon  had 
none  of  the  ex- 
cuses which  had 
justified  him  in 
interfering  in 
Italy,  in  Ger- 
many, in  Hol- 
land, in  Switzer- 
land. This  was 
not  a  conquest 
of  war,  not  a 
confiscation  on 
account  of  the 
perfidy  of  an 
ally,  not  an  at- 
tempt to  answer 
the  prayers  of  a 
people  for  a 
more  liberal 
government. 

If  Spain  had 
submitted  to  the 
change,  she 
would  have 
been  purchas- 
ing good  gov-~ 


MARSHAL    I.EFEBVRE.      ABOUT    1796. 

Engraved  in  1798  by  Fiesinger,  after  Mengelberg.  Lefebvre  (Francois  Joseph")  was  born  at  Ruffach 
in  1755,  son  of  a  miller,  destined  for  the  Church,  but  at  eighteen  he  enrolled  in  the  French  guards.  When 
the  Revolution  broke  out  he  had  just  reached  the  grade  of  sergeant.  In  1793  he  was  made  general  of  brigade 
under  Hoch2,  and  served  in  the  armies  of  the  Rhine  with  honor  until  wounded  in  1798,  when  he  returned 
to  Paris,  where  he  was  named  commander  of  one  of  the  military  divisions.  On  the  iSth  Brumaire.  Lefebvre 
rendered  important  service,  and  in  1800  was  named  for  the  Senate  by  the  First  Consul.  In  1804  he  was 
made  a  marshal  and  a  grand  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  In  1806  Lefebvre  commanded  a  division  of 
the  Grand  Army,  and  at  Jena  led  the  Imperial  foot-guard.  In  1807 he  directed  the  siege  of  Dantzic,  which 
lasted  fifty-one  days.  For  the  capture  of  this  town  he  was  made  Duke  of  Dantzic.  In  1808  Lefebvre  served 
in  Spain, gaining  two  battles.  In  the  war  of  1809  against  the  Austrians  he  led  the  Bavarian  army,  and  in 
1812  was  commander-in-chief  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  at  whose  head  he  remained  during  the  retreat  from 
Russia.  Lefebvre  was  made  a  peer  of  France  by  the  Restoration,  and  during  the  Hundred  Days  he  sat  in 
the  Imperial  Chamber.  When  Louis  XVIII.  returned  he  deposed  him,  but  he  was  recalled  in  1819.  He  died 
in  1820.  The  maisha,  and  his  wife  are  altogether  among  the  most  interesting  people  in  the  Napoleonic  court. 
Both  of  them  were  uneducated  and  completely  impervious  to  culture,  but  of  such  sincerity  of  thought  and 
speech,  and  such  goodness  of  heart,  that  Napoleon  valued  them  highly.  The  courtiers,  however,  ridiculed 
them  incessantly,  and  repeated  many  of  their  blunders  against  etiquette  and  grammar.  Madame  Lefebvre, 
a  kind  of  noble-hearted  Mrs.  Malaprop,  has  been  made  the  heroine  of  several  French  plays.  The  latest 
of  these  is  the  "  Madame  Sans-Gene  "  of  Victor  Sardou,  put  on  at  the  Vaudeville  in  Paris  in  the  winter 
of  1893-94. 


Designed  by  Charlet,  probably  about  1834.    The  costume,  save  the  boots,  is  the  one  Napo- 
leon commonly  wore  in-doors,  as  well  as  out. 


ernment  at  the  price  of  national  honor. 
But  Spain  did  not  submit.  She,  as  well  as 
all  disinterested  lookers-on  in  Europe,  was 
revolted  by  the  baseness  of  the  deed.  No 
one  has  ever  explained  better  the  feeling 
wjiich  the  intrigues  over  the  Spanish 
throne  caused  than  Napoleon  himself : 


"  I  confess  I  embarked  badly  in  the  affair  [he 
told  Las  Cases  at  St.  Helena].  The  immorality  of 
it  was  too  patent,  the  injustice  far  too  cynical,  and 
the  whole  thing  too  villanous  ;  hence  I  failed.  The 
attempt  is  seen  now  only  in  its  hideous  nudity, 
stripped  of  all  that  is  grand,  of  all  the  numerous 
benefits  which  I  intended.  Posterity  would  have 
extolled  it,  however,  if  I  had  succeeded,  and  rightly, 
perhaps,  because  of  its  great  and  happy  results." 


It  was  the  Spanish  people  themselves, 
not  the  ruling  house,  who  resented  the 
transfer  from  Bourbon  to  Bonaparte. 

No  sooner  was  it  noised  through  Spain 
that  the  Bourbons  had  really  abdicated, 
and  Joseph  Bonaparte  had  been  named 
king,  than  an  insurrection  was  organized 
simultaneously  all  over  the  country.  Some 
eighty-four  thousand  French  troops  were 
scattered  through  the  peninsula,  but  they 
were  powerless  before  the  kind  of  warfare 
which  now  began.  Every  defile  became  a 
battle-ground,  every  rock  hid  a  peasant, 
armed  and  waiting  for  French  stragglers, 
messengers,  supply  parties.  The  remnant 
of  the  French  fleet  escaped  from  Trafalgar, 


A   NEW  NOBILITY. 


149 


and  now  at  Cadiz,  was  forced  to  surrender. 
Twenty-five  thousand  French  soldiers  laid 
down  their  arms  at  Baylen,  but  the  Span- 
iards refused  to  keep  their  capitulation 
treaties.  The  prisoners  were  tortured  by 
the  peasants  in  the  most  barbarous  fashion, 
crucified,  burned,  sawed  asunder.  Those 
who  escaped  the  popular  vengeance  were 
sent  to  the  Island  of  Cabrera,  where  they 
lived  in  the  most  abject  fashion.  It  was  only 


in  1814  that  the  remnant  of  this  army  was 
released.  King  Joseph  was  obliged  to  flee 
to  Vittoria  a  week  after  he  reached  his 
capital. 

The  misfortunes  in  Spain  were  followed 
by  greater  ones  in  Portugal.  Junot  was 
defeated  by  an  English  army  at  Vimeiro 
in  August,  1808,  and  capitulated  on  condi- 
tion that  his  army  be  taken  back  to  France 
without  being  disarmed. 


CHAPTER     XV. 

DISASTER     IN     SPAIN.— ALEXANDER    AND     NAPOLEON     IN     COUNCIL.— NAPOLEON 

AT    MADRID. 


NAPOLEON  PREPARES  FOR  SPAIN.  bringing   prosperity  and  order  to   France 

were  rewarded  in  1807  with  splendid  gifts 

NAPOLEON,  amazed  at  this  unexpected  from  the  indemnities  levied  on  the  ene- 
popular  uprising  in  Spain,  and  angry  that  mies.  The  marshals  of  the  Grand  Army 
the  spell  of  invincibility  under  which  his  received  from  eighty  thousand  to  two 
armies  had  fought,  was  broken,  resolved  hundred  thousand  dollars  apiece  ;  twenty- 


to  undertake  the  Penin- 
sular war  himself. 

But  before  a  campaign 
in  Spain  could  be  entered 
upon,  it  was  necessary  to 
know  that  all  the  inner 
and  outer  wheels  of  the 
great  machine  he  had 
devised  for  dividing  the 
world  and  crushing  Eng- 
land were  working  per- 
fectly. 

Since  the  treaty  of 
Tilsit  he  had  done  much 
at  home  for  this  machine. 
The  finances  were  in 
splendid  condition. 
Public  works  of  great 
importance  were  going 
on  all  over  the  kingdom  ; 
the  court  was  luxurious 
and  brilliant,  and  the 
money  it  scattered,  en- 
couraged the  commer- 
cial and  manufacturing 
classes.  Never  had  fetes 
been  more  brilliant  than 
those  which  welcomed 
Napoleon  back  to  Paris 
in  1807  ;  never  had  the 
season  at  Fontainebleau 
been  gayer  or  more  mag- 
nificent than  it  was  that 
year. 

All  of  those  who  had 
been  instrumental  i  n 


CHARLET.       1792-1845. 

This  portrait,  a  perfect  likeness,  is  the  work 
of  Charlet  himself.  Charlet  was  about  twenty- 
nine  years  old  at  the  time  of  Waterloo,  and  had 
seen  the  emperor  on  several  occasions,  when  he 
took  pains  to  cover  his  note-book  with  sketches 
of  Napoleon  taken  in  every  attitude.  Bjt  he 
never  executed  a  portrait,  properly  so  called, 
of  the  hero.  Sometimes  he  enlarged  his  draw- 
ing in  the  studio,  and  accentuated  the  form  of 
his  model  in  a  remarkable  way  in  sepia,  or  occa- 
sionally even  in  color.  I  know  two  Napoleons 
on  horseback,  by  Charlet,  one  of  them  an  oil- 
painting,  the  other  a  colored  lithograph,  which 
are  true  portraits.  But  this  kind  of  interpre- 
tation of  the  emperor's  face  is  very  rare  in  the 
work  of  Charlet,  who  was.  above  all,  the  painter 
of  the  simple  soldier.  In  this  he  excels.  In  his 
numerous  lithographs,  drawings,  and  sepias, 
the  emperor  only  appears  by  the  way,  and  nearly 
always  in  rapid  pencil  sketch. — A.  D. 


five  generals  were  given 
forty  thousand  dollars 
each;  the  civil  function- 
aries were  not  forgotten  ; 
thus  Monsieur  de  Segur 
received  forty  thousand 
dollars  as  a  sign  of  the 
emperor's  gratification 
at  the  way  he  had  ad- 
ministered etiquette  to 
the  new  court. 

It  was  at  this  period 
that  Napoleon  founded 
a  new  nobility  as  a  fur- 
ther means  of  rewarding 
those  who  had  rendered 
brilliant  services  to 
France.  This  institution 
was  designed,  too,  as  a 
means  of  reconciling  old 
and  new  France.  It 
created  the  titles  of 
prince,  duke,  count, 
baron,  and  knight  ;  and 
those  receiving  these 
titles  were  at  the  same 
time  given  domains  in 
the  conquered  provinces, 
sufficient  to  permit  them 
to  establish  themselves 
in  good  style. 

The  drawing  up  of  the 
rules  which  were  to  gov- 
ern this  new  order  oc- 
cupied the  gravest  men 
of  the  country,  Cam- 


NAPOLEON   I. 

By  Carle  Vernet.  After  an  unpublished  water  color  in  the  collection  of  Monsieur  Chris- 
tophle,  ex-Minister  of  Public  Works,  Governor  of  the  Credit-fonder  of  France.  Carle  Vernet, 
who  often  had  occasion  to  see  the  emperor,  evidently  made  this  sketch  from  nature ;  then,  in  the 
retirement  of  his  studio,  copied  it  in  water  colors  and  placed  it  in  a  fictitious  composition.  It 
may  be  remarked  that  the  artist  has  represented  his  model  in  the  familiar  pose  rendered  by  the 
German  painter  DShling,  whose  well-known  portrait  is  reproduced  on  page  118. 


bace"res,  Saint-Martin,  d'Hauterive,  Por- 
talis,  Pasquier.  Among  other  duties  they 
had  to  prepare  the  armorial  bearings.  Na- 
poleon refused  to  allow  the  crown  to  go 
on  the  new  escutcheons.  He  wished  no 
one  but  himself  to  have  a  right  to  use  that 
symbol.  A  substitute  was  found  in  the 
panache,  the  number  of  plumes  showing 
the  rank. 

Napoleon  used  the  new  favors  at  his  com- 
mand freely,  creating  in  all,  after  1 807,  forty- 
eight  thousand  knights,  one  thousand  and 


ninety  barons,  three  hundred  and  eighty- 
eight  counts,  thirty-one  dukes,  and  three 
princes.  All  members  of  the  old  nobility 
who  were  supporting  his  government  were 
given  titles,  but  not  those  which  they  for- 
merly held.  Naturally  this  often  led  to 
great  dissatisfaction,  the  bearers  of  ancient 
names  preferring  a  lower  rank  which  had 
been  their  family's  for  centuries  to  one 
higher,  but  unhallowed  by  time  and  tra- 
dition. Thus  Madame  de  Montmorency 
rebelled  obstinately  against  being  made  a 


THE  EMPERORS  AT  ERFURT. 


THE    ERFURT    MEETING. 


countess, — she  had  been  a  baroness  under 

the  old  regime, — and,  as  the.  Montmorencys 

claimed  the  honor  of  being  called  the  first 

Christian  barons,  she  felt  justly  that  the  old  The  essential  point  in  carrying  out  the 

title  was  a  far  prouder  one  than  any  Napo-"  Tilsit  plan   was,   however,  the   fidelity  of 

leon  could  give  her.     But  a  countess  she  Alexander;  and  Napoleon  resolved,  before 

had  to  remain.  going  into  the  Spanish  war,  to  meet   the 

In    his    efforts   to   win    for    himself    the  Emperor  of   Russia.     This  was  the  more 

services  of  all  those  whom  blood  and  for-  needful,    because   Austria    had    begun    to 

tune  had  made  his  natural  supporters,  the  show  signs  of  hostility, 

emperor  tried  again   to   reconcile  Lucien.  The  meeting  opened  in  September,  1807, 

In  November,  1807,  Napoleon  visited  Italy,  at  Erfurt,  in  Saxony,  and  lasted  a  month, 

and  at  Mantua  a  secret  interview  took  place  Napoleon   acted  as  host,  and  prepared  a 

between    the    brothers.       Lucien,    in    his  splendid  entertainment  for  his  guests.    The 

"  Memoirs,"  gives  a  dramatic  description  of  company  he  had  gathered  was  most  bril- 

the  way    in   which    Napoleon    spread    the  liant.       Beside   the    Russian    and    French 

kingdoms  of  half  a  world  before  him  and  emperors,    with    ambassadors    and    suites, 

offered  him  his  choice.  were  the   Kings  of   Saxony,  Bavaria,  and 

Wurtemberg,  the  Prince  Primate,  the  Grand 

"  He  struck  a  great  blow  with  his  hand  in  the  Duke  and  Grand  Duchess  of   Baden,  the 

middle  of  the  immense  map  of  Europe  which  was  Dukes  of   Saxony,  and   the  Princes  of  the 

extended  on  the  table,  by  the  side  of  which  we  were  Confederation  of  the  Rhine. 

standing.        Ves,  choose,  he  said  ;    you  see  I  am  not  „,. 

talking  in  the  air.    All  this  is  mine,  or  will  soon  The  palaces  where  the   emperors  were 

belong  to  me  ;  I  can  dispose  of  it  already.    Do  you  entertained,   were    furnished  with   articles 


want  Naples  ?  I  will  take  it  from 
Joseph,  who,  by  the  by,  does  not  care 
for  it ;  he  prefers  Mortefontaine.  Italy 
— the  most  beautiful  jewel  in  my  im- 
perial crown  ?  Eugene  is  but  viceroy, 
and,  far  from  despising  it,  he  hopes 
only  that  I  shall  give  it  to  him,  or, 
at  least,  leave  it  to  him  if  he  survives 
me  ;  he  is  likely  to  be  disappointed 
in  waiting,  for  I  shall  live  ninety 
years.  I  must,  for  the  perfect  con- 
solidation of  my  empire.  Besides, 
Eugene  will  not  suit  me  in  Italy 
after  his  mother  is  divorced.  Spain  ? 
Do  you  not  see  it  falling  into  the  hol- 
low of  my  hand,  thanks  to  the  blun- 
ders of  my  dear  Bourbons,  and  to  the 
follies  of  your  friend,  the  Prince  of 
Peace  ?  Would  you  not  be  well 
pleased  to  reign  there,  where  you  have 
been  only  ambassador  ?  Once  for  all, 
what  do  you  want  ?  Speak  !  What- 
ever you  wish,  or  can  wish,  is  yours, 
if  your  divorce  precedes  mine.'  " 


Until  midnight  the  two 
brothers  wrestled  with  the 
questions  between  them. 
Neither  would  abandon  his 
position  ;  and  when  Lucien 
finally  went  away,  his  face  was 
wet  with  tears.  To  Meneval, 
who  conducted  him  to  his  inn 
in  the  town,  he  said,  in  bidding 
him  carry  his  farewell  to  the 
emperor,  "  It  may  be  forever." 
It  was  not.  Seven  years  later 
the.  brothers  met  again,  but 
the  map  of  Europe  was  for-  .  r. 

1  , ,       .  *:  T  Carved    by  General    Chau- 

ever    rolled    up   for    Napo-    Rarnier    collection  of  the  Mar- 

quis  de  Girardin. 


STATUETTE    IN  WOOD  OF   THE  EM- 
PEROR  NAPOLEON    I. 


from  the  Garde-Meuble  of 
France.  The  leading  actors 
of  the  Theatre  Fran$ais  gave 
the  best  French  tragedies  to 
a  house  where  there  was,  as 
Napoleon  had  promised  Talma, 
a  "  parterre  full  of  kings." 
There  was  a  hare  hunt  on  the 
battle-field  of  Jena,  to  which 
even  Prince  William  of  Prussia 
was  invited,  and  where  the 
party  breakfasted  on  the  spot 
where  Napoleon  had  biv- 
ouacked in  1806,  the  night  be- 
fore the  battle.  There  were 
balls  where  Alexander  danced, 
"but  not  I,"  wrote  the  em- 
peror to  Josephine  ;  "  forty 
years  are  forty  years."  Goethe 
and  Wieland  were  both  pre- 
sented to  Napoleon  at  Erfurt, 
and  the  emperor  had  long  con- 
versations with  them. 

In  the  midst  of  the  gayeties 
Napoleon  and  Alexander  found 
time  to  renew  their  Tilsit  agree- 
ment. They  were  to  make  war 
and  peace  together.  Alex- 
ander was  to  uphold  Napoleon 
in  giving  Joseph  the  throne  of 
Spain,  and  to  keep  the  conti- 
nent tranquil  during  the  Penin- 
sular war.  Napoleon  was  to 
support  Alexander  in  getting 
possession  of  Finland,  Molda- 
via, and  Wallachia.  The  two 
emperors  were  to  write  and 


152 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


ALEXANDER   I.    OF    RUSSIA.       1805. 

Alexander  I.  of  Russia  was  born  at  St.  Petersburg  in  1777 ;  as- 
cended the  throne  in  1801,  after  the  murder  of  his  father.  His  first  acts 
were  remarkably  liberal.  He  recalled  the  banished,  opened  prisons, 
abolished  the  censorship,  the  torture,  the  public  sale  of  serfs,  founded 
schools,  reformed  the  code,  and  did  much  to  put  Russia  in  the  line  of 
progress  Western  Europe  was  following.  He  entered  into  the  first 
coalition  against  Napoleon  in  1805,  and  suffered  a  defeat  at  Austeriitz 
in  December  of  that  year.  The  next  year  the  battles  of  Eylau  and 
Friedland  drove  him  to  make  peace  with  Napoleon.  The  negotiations 
of  Tilsit,  where  this  peace  was  signed,  were  the  beginning  of  a  warm 
personal  friendship  between  the  two  emperors,  and  Alexander  con- 
sented to  aid  Napoleon  in  his  vast  scheme  for  conquering  England. 
The  fundamental  part  of  this  scheme,  the  continental  blockade, 
at  last  bore  too  heavily  on  the  Russians,  and  Napoleon's  occupation 
of  Oldenburg  dissatisfied  Alexander.  The  peace  was  broken  in  1812, 
and  Napoleon  undertook  the  invasion  of  Russia.  Alexander  refused 
to  come  to  any  terms  with  his  former  friend,  and  in  1813  called  Europe 
to  arm  itself  against  France.  This  coalition  was  fatal  to  Napoleon, 
who  was  driven  to  abdicate  in  1814  :  and  Alexander,  who  had  pleased 
the  Parisians  by  his  mild  treatment  of  them,  was  the  main  instrument 
in  the  recall  of  the  Bourbons.  At  the  Congress  of  Vienna  which  fol- 
lowed, he  succeeded  in  obtaining  assent  to  his  confiscation  of  Poland. 
After  Waterloo  Alexander  returned  with  his  troops  to  Paris,  and  con- 
sented to  the  rigorous  measures  taken  against  the  country,  but  opposed 
its  dismemberment.  On  leaving  Paris  he  signed  the  Holy  Alliance 
with  Prussia  and  Austria,  which  had  as  its  real  object  opposition  to  the 
liberal  principles  of  the  Revolution.  Alexander  fell  under  new  influences 
afterwards— English  and  Protestant.  He  closed  the  French  theatres 
and  opened  Bible  societies  ;  became,  under  Madame  Krttdener's  in- 
fluence, a  devout  follower  of  her  mysticism,  and  received  a  deputation 
of  Quakers,  with  whom  he  prayed  and  wept.  Later  he  became  severe 
and  suspicious.  He  died  in  1825. 


sign  a  letter  inviting  England  to 
join  them  in  peace  negotiations. 

This  was  done  promptly  ;  but 
when  England  insisted  that  repre- 
sentativesof  thegovernment  which 
was  acting  in  Spain  in  the  name  of 
Ferdinand  VII.  should  be  admitted 
to  the  proposed  meeting,  the  peace 
negotiations  abruptly  ended. 
Underthecircumstances  Napoleon 
could  not,  of  course,  recognize  that 
government. 

NAPOLEON    IN    SPAIN. 

The  emperor  was  ready  to  con- 
duct the  Spanish  war.  His  first 
move  was  to  send  into  the  country 
a  large  body  of  veterans  from  Ger- 
many. Before  this  time  the  army 
had  been  made  up  of  young  re- 
cruits upon  whom  the  Spanish 
looked  with  contempt.  The  men, 
inexperienced  and  demoralized  by 
the  kind  of  guerilla  warfare  which 
was  waged  against  them,  had  be- 
come discouraged.  The  worst 
feature  of  their  case  was  that  they 
did  not  believe  in  the  war.  That 
brave  story-teller  Marbot  relates 
frankly  how  he  felt  : 

"  As  a  soldier  I  was  bound  to  fight  any 
one  who  attacked  the  French  army,  but  I 
could  not  help  recognizing  in  my  inmost 
conscience  that  our  cause  was  a  bad  one, 
and  that  the  Spaniards  were  quite  right  in 
trying  to  drive  out  strangers  who,  after 
coming  among  them  in  the  guise  of  friends, 
were  wishing  to  dethrone  their  sovereign 
and  take  forcible  possession  of  the  king- 
dom. This  war,  therefore,  seemed  to  me 
wicked ;  but  I  was  a  soldier,  and  I  must 
march  or  be  charged  with  cowardice.  The 
greater  part  of  the  army  thought  as  I  did, 
and,  like  me,  obeyed  orders  all  the  same." 

The  appearance  of  the  veterans 
and  the  presence  of  the  emperor 
at  9nce  put  a  new  face  on  the  war ; 
the  morale  of  the  army  was  raised, 
and  the  respect  of  the  Spaniards 
inspired. 

The  emperor  speedily  made  his 
way  to  Madrid,  though  he  had  to 
fight  three  battles  to  get  there,  and 
began  at  once  a  work  of  reorgani- 
zation. Decree  followed  decree. 
Feudal  rights  were  abolished,  the 
inquisition  was  ended,  the  number 
of  convents  was  reduced,  the  cus- 
tom-houses between  the  various 
provinces  were  done  away  with,  a 
political  and  military  programme 


NAPOLEON   TO    THE   SPANIARDS. 


'53 


UNPUBLISHED    PORTRAIT   OF    NAPOLEON. 

Executed  on  a  bonbon-box  of  straw,  by  a  Chinese 
artist.  Collection  of  Monsieur  le  Roux.  The  fame  of 
Napoleon's  exploits,  especially  after  the  brilliant  triumph 
of  Austerlitz,  reached  even  the  extreme  Orient ;  and  at 
that  time  the  image  of  Napoleon  was  reproduced  in 
many  and  various  ways  by  Chinese  and  Japanese  art- 
ists, who  had  as  guide  pictures  of  Napoleon,  carried 
religiously  across  the  sea  as  relics  by  the  hands  of 
Frenchmen.  There  even  exists  a  Japanese  album,  ex- 
tremely rare,  which  I  have  had  occasion  to  handle, 
and  in  which  the  principal  facts  of  Napoleon's  reign 
are  depicted  in  twenty  colored  plates,  in  a  style  at  once 
naive  and  picturesque.  The  portrait  here  reproduced 
•was  made,  probably  in  1806,  by  an  artist  of  the  Celes- 
tial Empire.  It  is  interesting,  of  course,  rather  as  a 
rare  and  curious  document  than  as  a  work  of  art. — A.  D. 


was  made  out  for  King  Joseph.  Many 
bulletins  were  sent  to  the  Spanish 
people.  In  all  of  them  they  are  told 
that  it  is  the  English  who  are  their 
enemies,  not  their  allies  ;  that  they  come 
to  the  Peninsula  not  to  help,  but  to 
inspire  to  false  confidence,  and  to  lead 
them  astray.  Napoleon's  plan  and  pur- 
pose cannot  be  mistaken. 

"  Spaniards  [he  proclaimed  at  Madrid],  your 
destinies  are  in  my  hands.  Reject  the  poison 
which  the  English  have  spread  among  you  ;  let 
your  king  be  certain  of  your  love  ana  your  con- 
fidence, and  you  will  be  more  powerful  and  hap- 
pier than  ever.  I  have  destroyed  all  that  was 
opposed  to  your  prosperity  and  greatness ;  I 
have  broken  the  fetters  which  weighed  upon  the 
people  ;  a  liberal  constitution  gives  you,  instead 
of  an  absolute,  a  tempered  and  constitutional 
monarchy.  It  depends  upon  you  that  this  con- 
stitution shall  become  law.  But  if  all  my  efforts 
prove  useless,  and  if  you  do  not  respond  to  my 
confidence,  it  will  only  remain  for  me  to  treat 
you  as  conquered  provinces,  and  to  find  my 
brother  another  throne.  I  shall  then  place  the 
crown  of  Spain  on  my  own  head,  and  I  shall 
know  how  to  make  the  wicked  tremble  ;  for  God 
has  given  me  the  power  and  the  will  necessary 
to  surmount  all  obstacles." 


But  a  flame  had  been  kindled  in 
Spain  which  no  number  of  even  Na- 
poleonic bulletins  could  quench — a 
fanatical  frenzy  inspired  by  the 
priests,  a  blind  passion  of  patriot- 
ism. The  Spaniards  wanted  their 
own,  even  if  it  was  feudal  and  op- 
pressive. A  constitution  which  they 
had  been  forced  to  accept,  seemed 
to  them  odious  and  shameful,  if 
liberal. 

The  obstinacy  and  horror  of  their 
resistance  was  nowhere  so  tragic 
and  so  heroic  as  at  the  siege  of 
Saragossa,  going  on  at  the  time 
Napoleon,  at  Madrid,  was  issuing 
his  decrees  and  proclamations. 


"JOSEPHINE,  IMPERATRICE  DBS  FRANCAIS." 

Reproduction  of  the  model  of  the  marble  statue  exhib- 
ited in  the  Salon  of  1857,  and  executed  for  the  town  of  St.  Pierre 
(Martinique),  the  native  country  of  Josephine.  This  statue  is 
by  the  sculptor  Vital-Dubray.  The  plaster  cast  is  in  the  Ver- 
sailles museum. 


NAPOLEON    I.,   EMPEROR    OF    THE   FRENCH    AND    KING   OF    ITALY.     ("NAPOLEON    1CT,  EMPEREUR    DBS 
FRANCOIS,  ROI  D'ITALIE.")    ABOUT  1809. 

Engraved  by  Roger,  after  GueYin.    Painted,  probably,  about  1809. 


Saragossa  had  been  fortified  when  the  in- 
surrection against  King  Joseph  broke  out. 
The  town  was  surrounded  by  convents, 
which  were  turned  into  forts.  Men,  women, 
and  children  took  up  arms,  and  the  priests, 
cross  in  hand,  and  dagger  at  the  belt,  led 
them.  No  word  of  surrender  was  tolerated 
within  the  walls.  At  the  beginning  Napo- 
leon regarded  the  defence  of  Saragossa  as 
a  small  affair,  and  wished  to  try  persuasion 
on  the  people.  There  was  at  Paris  a  well- 
known  Aragon  noble  whom  he  urged  to  go 
to  Saragossa  and  calm  the  popular  excite- 
ment. The  man  accepted  the  mission. 
When  he  arrived  in  the  town  the  people 
hurried  forth  to  meet  him,  supposing  he 


had  come  to  aid  in  the  resistance.  At  the 
first  word  o£  submission  he  spoke  he  was 
assailed  by  the  mob,  and  for  nearly  a  year 
lay  in  a  dungeon. 

The  peasants  of  the  vicinity  of  Saragossa 
were  quartered  in  the  town,  each  family 
being  given  a  house  to  defend.  Nothing 
could  drive  them  from  their  posts.  They 
took  an  oath  to  resist  until  death,  and  re- 
garded the  probable  destruction  of  them- 
selves and  their  families  with  the  indiffer- 
ence of  stoics.  The  priests  had  so  aroused 
their  religious  exaltation,  and  were  able  to 
sustain  it  at  such  a  pitch,  that  they  never 
wavered  before  the  daily  horrors  they  en- 
dured. 


THE  SIEGE   OF  SARAGOSSA. 


'55 


The  French  at  first  tried  to  drive  them 
from  their  posts  by  sallies  made  into  the 
town,  but  the  inhabitants  rained  such  a 
murderous  fire  upon  them  from  towers, 
roofs,  windows,  even  the  cellars,  that  they 
were  obliged  to  retire.  Exasperated  by 
this  stubborn  resistance  they  resolved  to 
blow  up  the  town,  inch  by  inch.  The  siege 
was  begun  in  the  most  terrible  and  destruc- 
tive manner,  but  the  people  were  unmoved 
by  the  danger.  "  While  a  house  was  being 
mined,  and  the  dull  sound  of  the  rammers 
warned  them  that  death  was  at  hand,  not 
one  left  the  house  which  he  had  sworn  to 
defend,  and  we  could  hear  them  singing 
litanies.  Then,  at  the.  moment  the  walls 
flew  into  the  air  and  fell  back  with  a  crash, 
crushing  the  greater  part  of  them,  those 
who  had  escaped  would  collect  about  the 
ruins,  and  sheltering  themselves  behind  the 
slightest  cover,  would  recommence  their 
sharpshooting." 

Marshal     Lannes     commanded     before 


Saragossa.  Touched  by  the  devotion  and 
the  heroism  of  the  defenders,  he  proposed 
an  honorable  capitulation.  The  besieged 
scorned  the  proposition,  and  the  awful  pro- 
cess of  undermining  went  on  until  the  town 
was  practically  blown  to  pieces. 

For  such  resistance  there  was  no  end  but 
extermination.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
career  Napoleon  had  met  sublime  popular 
patriotism,  a  passion  before  which  diplo- 
macy, flattery,  love  of  gain,  force,  lose 
their  power. 

It  was  for  but  a  short  time  that  the 
emperor  could  give  his  personal  attention 
to  the  Spanish  war.  Certain  wheels  in  his 
great  machine  were  not  running  right.  At 
its  very  centre,  in  Paris,  there  was  friction 
among  certain  influential  persons.  The 
peace  of  the  Continent,  necessary  to  the 
Peninsular  war,  and  which  Alexander  had 
guaranteed,  was  threatened.  Under  these 
circumstances  it  was  impossible  to  remain 
in  Spain. 


A   CORNER    OF   THE   NAPOLEON   COLLECTION    OF  THE   MARQUIS   DE    GIRARDIN. 

The  souvenirs  of  Napoleon  prints  must  be  reckoned  by  thousands.  Paintings,  bronzes,  snuff-boxes,  miniatures, 
objects  of  industrial  art,  symbolic  objects,  arms,  etc.— all  figure  in  the  collection  of  the  Marquis  de  Girardin  in  Paris. 
Many  of  the  articles  belonged  originally  to  the  Due  de  Gnete.  father  in-law  of  the  Marquis  de  Girardin,  who  was 
Bonaparte's  minister  of  finance  from  the  i8th  Rrumaire  till  the  abdication  at  Fontainebleau,  and  also  resumed  office 
during  the  Hundred  Days.  He  was  one  of  the  most  faithful  followers  of  the  emperor,  who  loaded  him  with  presents. 
These  form  the  chief  part  of  the  collection  of  the  Marquis  de  Girardin,  to  whom  our  sincere  thanks  are  due  for  his 
kind  permission  to  reproduce  here  one  of  the  most  picturesque  corners  of  his  veritable  museum.  —A.  D. 


EMl'EKOK    NAPOLEON. 


Drawn  by  Vigneux.  Engraved  by  Henry.  Print  belonging  to  the  Count  Primoli  of  Rome, 
and  bearing  the  following  interesting  testimony  written  by  the  Prince  Gabrielli  himself,  a 
relative  of  the  emperor :  "  Only  portrait  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon  Bonaparte  that  resembles 
him  ;  bought  in  Paris  by  the  Prince  Don  Pietro  Gabrielli  in  December,  1809." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


TALLEYRAND'S    TREACHERY.— THE    CAMPAIGN    OF    1809.—  WAGRAM. 


PLOTTING     OF    TALLEYRAND    AND     TOUCHED 

Two  unscrupulous  and  crafty  men,  both 
of  singular  ability,  caused  the  interior 
trouble  which  called  Napoleon  from  Spain. 
These  men  were  Talleyrand  and  Fouche. 
The  latter  we  saw  during  the  Consulate  as 
Minister  of  Police.  Since,  he  had  been  once 
dismissed  because  of  his  knavery,  and 
restored,  largely  for  the  same  quality.  His 


cunning  was  too  valuable  to  dispense  with. 
The  former,  Talleyrand,  made  Minister  of 
Foreign  Affairs  in  1799,  had  handled  his 
negotiations  with  the  extraordinary  skill 
for  which  he  was  famous,  until,  in  1807, 
Napoleon's  mistrust  of  his  duplicity,  and 
Talleyrand's  own  dislike  of  the  details  of 
his  position,  led  to  the  portfolio  being  taken 
from  him,  and  he  being  made  Vice-Grand- 
Elector.  He  evidently  expected,  in  mak- 


TALLEYRAND. 

Engraved  by  Desnoyers.  after  Gerard.  Talleyrand-Perigord  (Charles  Maurice  de)  (1754-1838)  was  educated  for  the 
Church,  and  in  1788  was  made  Bishop  of  Autun.  He  was  active  in  the  Revolution,  and  being  struck  with  Napoleon's  talent 
in  Italy,  hastened  to  win  his  favor.  He  became  Napoleon's  most  important  adviser,  but  later  turned  against  him,  and 
became  his  most  subtle  enemy.  After  the  surrender  of  Paris,  it  was  Talleyrand  who  secured  from  Alexander  the  declara- 
tion that  he  would  treat  neither  with  Napoleon  nor  with  any  member  of  his  family.  He  became  Louis  XVIII. 's  Minister 
of  Foreign  Affairs.  Soon  after  Waterloo  he  lost  his  position  as  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  but  the  Revolution  of  1830 
restored  him  to  favor,  and  he  was  sent  to  London  as  ambassador.  In  1834  he  left  diplomatic  life  at  his  own  request,  and 
returned  to  Paris,  where  he  died  in  1838. 


ing  this  change,  to  remain  as  influential  as 
ever  with  Napoleon.  The  knowledge  that 
the  emperor  was  dispensing  with  his  services 
made  him  resentful,  and  his  devotion  to  the 
imperial  cause  fluctuated  according  to  the 
attention  he  received. 

Now,  Napoleon's  course  in  Spain  had 
been  undertaken  at  the  advice  of  Talley- 
rand, largely,  and  he  had  repeated  con- 
stantly, in  the  .  early  negotiations,  that 


France  ought  not  to  allow  a  Bourbon  to 
remain  enthroned  at  her  borders.  Yet,  as 
the  affair  went  on,  he  began  slyly  to  talk 
against  the  enterprise.  At  Erfurt,  where 
Napoleon  had  been  impolitic  enough  to 
take  him,  he  initiated  himself  into  Alex- 
ander's good  graces,  and  prevented  Napo- 
leon's policy  towards  Austria  being  carried 
out.  When  Napoleon  returned  to  Spain, 
Talleyrand  and  Fouche",  who  up  to  this 


THE    EVE    OK   THE    MASTER. 

After  Raflfet. 


time  had  been  enemies,  became  friendly, 
and  even  appeared  in  public,  arm  in  arm. 
If  Talleyrand  and  Fouche  had  made  up, 
said  the  Parisians,  there  was  mischief 
brewing. 

Napoleon  was  not  long  in  knowing  of 
their  reconciliation.  He  learned  more, 
that  the  two  crafty  plotters  had  written 
Murat  that  in  the  event  of  "something 
happening,"  that  is,  of  Napoleon's  death  or 
overthrow,  they  should  organize  a  move- 
ment to  call  him  to  the  head  of  affairs  ; 
that,  accordingly,  he  must  hold  himself 
ready. 

Napoleon  returned  to  Paris  immediately, 
removed  Talleyrand  from  his  position  at 
court,  and,  at  a  gathering  of  high  officials, 
treated  him  to  one  of  those  violent  ha- 
rangues with  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
flay  those  whom  he  would  disgrace  and 
dismiss. 

"  You  are  a  thief,  a  coward,  a  man  without  honor  ; 
you  do  not  believe  in  God  ;  you  have  all  your  life 
been  a  traitor  to  your  duties  ;  you  have  deceived  and 
betrayed  everybody  ;  nothing  is  sacred  to  you  ;  you 
would  sell  your  own  father.  I  have  loaded  you  down 
with  gifts,  and  there  is  nothing  you  would  not  un- 
dertake against  me.  For  the  past  ten  months  you 
have  been  shameless  enough,  because  you  supposed, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  that  my  affairs  in  Spain  were 
going  astray,  to  say  to  all  who  would  listen  to  you  that 


you  always  blamed  my  undertakings  there;  whereas 
it  was  you  yourself  who  first  put  it  into  my  head,  and 
who  persistently  urged  it.  And  that  man,  that  un- 
fortunate [he  meant  the  Due  d'Enghien],  by  whom 
was  I  advised  of  the  place  of  his  residence  ?  \Vho 
drove  me  to  deal  cruelly  with  him  ?  What,  then,  are 
you  aiming  at  ?  What  do  you  wish  for  ?  W7hat  do 
you  hope  ?  Do  you  dare  to  say  ?  You  deserve  that 
I  should  smash  you  like  a  wine-glass.  I  can  do  it, 
but  I  despise  you  too  much  to  take  the  trouble." 

All  of  this  was  undoubtedly  true,  but, 
after  having  publicly  said  it,  there  was 
but  one  safe  course  for  Napoleon — to  put 
Talleyrand  where  he  could  no  longer  con- 
tinue his  plotting.  He  made  the  mistake, - 
however,  of  leaving  him  at  large. 

WAR    WITH    AUSTRIA. 

The  disturbance  of  the  continental  peace 
came  from  Austria.  Encouraged  by  Na- 
poleon's absence  in  Spain,  and  the  with- 
drawal of  troops  from  Germany,  and  urged 
by  England  to  attempt  again  to  repair  her 
losses,  Austria  had  hastily  armed  herself, 
hoping  to  be  able  to  reach  the  Rhine  be- 
fore Napoleon  could  collect  his  forces  and 
meet  her.  At  this  moment  Napoleon  could 
command  about  the  same  number  of  troops 
as  the  Austrians,  but  they  were  scattered 
in  all  directions,  while  the  enemy's  were 


BATTLES  OF   ASPERN  AND   ESSLING 


'59 


already  consolidated.  The  question  be- 
came, then,  whether  he  could  get  his 
troops  together  before  the  Austrians  at- 
tacked. From  every  direction  he  hurried 
them  across  France  and  Germany  towards 
Ratisbonne.  On  the  i2th  of  April  he  heard 
in  Paris  that  the  Austrians  had  crossed  the 
Inn.  On  the  i7th  the  emperor  was  in  his 
headquarters  at  Donauworth,  his  army  well 
in  hand.  "  Neither  in  ancient  or  modern 
times,"  says  Jomini,  "  will  one  find  any- 
thing which  equals  in  celerity  and  ad- 
mirable precision  the  opening  of  this 
campaign." 

In  the  next  ten  days  a  series  of  combats 
broke  the  Austrian  army,  drove  the  Arch- 
duke Charles,  with  his  main  force,  north 
of  the  Danube,  and  opened  the  road  to 
Vienna  to  the  French.  On  the  i2th  of 
May,  one  month  from  the  day  he  left 
Paris,  Napoleon  wrote  from  Schonbrunn, 
"We  are  masters  of  Vienna."  The  city 
had  been  evacuated. 


Napoleon  lay  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Danube  ;  the  Austrian  army  under  the 
Archduke  Charles  was  coming  towards 
the  city  by  the  left  bank  ;  it  was  to  be  a 
hand-to-hand  struggle  under  the  walls  of 
Vienna.  The  emperor  was  uncertain  of  the 
archduke's  plans,  but  he  was  determined 
that  he  should  not  have  a  chance  to  ree'n- 
force  his  army.  The  battle  must  be  fought 
at  once,  and  he  prepared  to  go  across  the 
river  to  attack  him.  The  place  of  cross- 
ing he  chose  was  south  of  Vienna,  where 
the  large  island  Lobau  divides  the  stream. 
Bridges  had  to  be  built  for  the  passage, 
and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that 
the  work  was  accomplished,  for  the  river 
was  high  and  the  current  swift,  and  anchors 
and  boats  were  scarce.  Again  and  again 
the  boats  broke  apart.  Nevertheless,  about 
thirty  thousand  of  the  French  got  over, 
and  took  possession  of  the  villages  of 
Aspern  and  Essling,  where  they  were  at- 
tacked on  May  2ist  by  some  eighty  thou- 


RETURN    OF   NAPOLEON    TO   THE    ISLAND    OF    LOBAU,    AFTER   THE    BATTLE    OF    ESSLING,    MAY    23,    I 


By  Charles  Meynier.  Museum  of  Versailles.  "  As  the  waters  of  the  Danube  continued  to  rise,  and  the  bridges  had 
not  been  restored  during  the  night,  the  emperor  on  the  23d  led  the  army  across  the  iterrow  arm  of  the  left  bank,  and  took 
up  a  position  on  the  island  of  In-der-Lobau,  placing  a  guard  at  the  ends  of  the  bridge.  The  numerous  wounded  on  the 
left  bank  were-brought  across  the  little  bridge  ;  even  those  who  gave  only  the  feeblest  sign  of  life  were  carried  to  the 
island.  .  .  .  The  greatest  precautions  were  necessary,  as  our  frail  pontoons  were  often  displaced  by  the  impetuos- 
ity of  the  Danube.  The  whole  of  the  general  staff  were  employed  in  effecting  the  passage.  Nothing  was  left  on  the 
battle-field."— 7>*M  Bulletin  of  the  Grand  Army.  The  emperor,  having  crossed  the  Danube,  came  upon  a  group  of 
soldiers  on  the  left  bank  having  their  wounds  dressed.  At  the  sight  of  him  they  broke  away  from  the  surgeon's  hands, 
and,  forgetting  their  wounds,  cheered  him  in  a  transport  of  joy. 


i6o 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


sand  Austnans.  The  battle  which  followed 
lasted  all  day,  and  the  French  sustained 
themselves  heroically.  That  night  ree'n- 
forcements  were  gotten  over,  so  that  the 
next  day  some  fifty-five  thousand  men  were 
on  the  French  side.  Napoleon  fought  with 
the  greatest  obstinacy,  hoping  that  another 
division  would  soon  succeed  in  getting  over, 
and  would  enable  him  to  overcome  the  supe- 
rior numbers  of  the  Austrians.  Already 
the  battle  was  becoming  a  hand-to-hand 
fight,  when  the  terrible  news  came  that  the 
bridge  over  the  Danube  had  gone  down. 
The  Austrians  had  sent  floating  down  the 
swollen  river  great  mills,  fire-boats,  and 
masses  of  timber  fastened  together  in 


such  a  way  as  to  become  battering-rams  of 
frightful  power  when  carried  by  the  rapid 
stream.  All  hope  of  aid  was  gone,  and,  as 
the  news  spread,  the  army  resigned  itself 
to  perish,  but  to  perish  sword  in  hand. 
The  carnage  which  followed  was  horrible. 
Towards  evening  one  of  the  bravest  of 
the  French  marshals,  Lannes,  was  fatally 
wounded.  It  seemed  as  if  fortune  had  de- 
termined on  the  loss  of  the  French,  and 
Napoleon  decided  to  retreat  to  the  island 
of  Lobau,  where  he  felt  sure  that  he 
could  maintain  his  position,  and  secure 
supplies  from  the  army  on  the  right  bank, 
until  he  had  time  to  build  bridges  and 
unite  his  forces.  Communications  were 


-NAI'OLEON. 

Engraved  by  Ruotte,  after  Robert  Lefevre.     Probably  painted  about  1810. 


a  ™ 


S-  °  c 
c  — 
2  .«  3 


|S  = 

<o  e  ? 


~r  c 

U     3 

£  - 


162 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


soon  established  with 
the  right  bank,  but  the 
isle  of  Lobau  was  not 
deserted  ;  it  was  used, 
in  fact,  as  a  camp  for 
the    next    few   weeks, 
while    Napoleon    was 
sending   to    Italy,    to 
France,   and    to    Ger- 
many for  new  troops. 
A     heavy     reenforce- 
ment    came    to    him 
from  Italy  with  news 
which  did  much  to  en- 
courage   him.      When 
the  war  began,  an  Aus- 
trian army  had  invaded 
Italy,  and  at  first  had 
success  in  its  engage- 
ments against  the 
French  under  the  Vice- 
roy of   Italy,   Eugene 
de  Beauharnais.     The 
news  of  the  ill-luck  of 
the  Austrians  at  home, 
and  of  the  march  on 
Vienna,    had    discour- 
aged the  leader,  Arch- 
duke John,  brother  of 
Archduke  Charles,  and 
he  had  retreated,  Eu- 
gene following.     Such 
were  the  successes  of 
the  French  on  this  re- 
treat, that  the  Austri- 
ans finally  retired  out 
of   their  way,  leaving 
them  a  free  route   to 
Vienna,  where  Eugene 
soon  united  his  army 
to  that  of  the  emperor. 
With  the  greatest  ra- 
pidity the  French  now 
secured  and  strength- 
ened   their    communi- 
cations with  Italy  and 
with  France,  and  gath- 
ered   troops    about 
Vienna.      The    whole 
month    of    June    was 
passed    in    this    way, 
hostile  Europe  repeat- 
ing the  while  that  Na- 
poleon was  shut  in  by 
the    Austrians    and 
could  not   move,  and 
that  he  was  idling  his 
time  in  luxury  at  the 
castle  of  Schonbrunn, 
where   he   had   estab- 
lished   his    headquar- 


THE    LITTLE   CORPORAL. 

This  statue  of  Napoleon  in  the  costume  of  the 
Petit  Caporal,  from  the  chisel  of  Seurre,  was  placed 
on  the  column  of  the  Place  Vendome,  on  July  28, 
1835.  It  succeeded  on  the  pedestal  the  white  flag 
of  the  Bourbons,  which  in  its  turn  had  replaced  the 
original  statue  of  "  Napoldon  en  Cesar  Remain,"  by 
Chaudet.  An  interesting  detail,  unknown  to  most 
Parisians,  is  that  the  equestrian  statue  of  Henri  IV. 
on  the  Pont  Neuf  was  cast  with  the  bronze  of  Chau- 
det's  Napoleon.  When  Napoleon  III.  ascended  the 
throne,  he  replaced  the  "  Petit  Caporal "  of  Seurre 
(whose  decorative  appearance  he  did  not  consider 
"  assez  a^«a.rf79«*")byacopyof  Chaudet's  "  Ce'sar." 
made  by  the  sculptor  Drumont.  That  figure  still 
crowns  the  summit  of  the  column,  which  was  re- 
erected  after  the  desecration  by  the  Commune. — A.  D. 


ters.  But  this  month 
of  apparent  inactivity 
was  only  a  feint.  By 
the  ist  of  July  the 
French  Army  had 
reached  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  men. 
They  were  in  admira- 
ble condition,  well 
drilled,  fresh,  and  con- 
fident. Their  commu- 
nications were  strong, 
their  camps  good,  and 
they  were  eager  for  a 
battle. 

The  Austrians  were 
encamped  at  Wagram, 
to  the  north  of  the 
Danube.  They  had 
fortified  the  banks  op- 
posite the  island  of 
Lobau  in  a  manner 
which  they  believed 
would  prevent  the 
French  from  attempt- 
ing a  passage ;  but  in 
arranging  their  fortifi- 
cation they  had  com- 
pletely neglected  a 
certain  portion  of  the 
bank  on  which  Napo- 
leon seemed  to  have  no 
designs.  But  this  was 
the  point,  naturally, 
which  Napoleon  had 
chosen  for  his  passage, 
and  on  the  night  of 
July  4th  he  effected  it. 
On  the  morning  of  the 
5th  his  whole  army  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  men,  with 
four  hundred  batter- 
ies, was  on  the  left 
bank.  In  the  midst  of 
a  terrible  storm  this 
great  mass  of  men, 
with  all  its  equipment, 
had  crossed  the  main 
Danube,  several 
islands  and  channels, 
had  built  six  bridges, 
and  by  daybreak  had 
arrange  d  itself  in 
order.  It  was  an  un- 
heard-of feat. 

Pushing  his  corps 
forward,  and  easily 
sweeping  out  of  his 
way  the  advance  posts, 
Napoleon  soon  had  his 


PEACE    WITH  AUSTRIA. 


163 


line  facing  that  of  the  Austrians,  which 
stretched  from  near  the  Danube  to  a  point 
east  of  Wagram.  At  seven  o'clock  on  the 
evening  of  July5th  the  French  attacked  the 
left  and  centre  of  the  enemy,  but  without 
driving  them  from  their  position.  The  next 
morning  it  was  the  Archduke  Charles  who 
took  the  offensive,  making  a  movement 
which  changed  the  whole  battle.  He  at- 
tacked the  French  left,  which  was  nearest 
the  river,  with  fifty  thousand  men,  intending 
to  get  on  their  line  of  communication  and 
destroy  the  bridges  across  the  Danube. 
The  troops  on  the  French  centre  were 
obliged  to  hurry  off  to  prevent  this,  and 
the  army  was  weakened  for  a  moment,  but 
not  long.  Napoleon  determined  to  make 
the  Archduke  Charles,  who  in  person  com- 
manded this  attack  on  the  French  left,  re- 
turn, not  by  following  him,  but  by  break- 
ing his  centre  ;  and  he  turned  his  heavy 
batteries  against  this  portion  of  the  army, 
and  followed  them  by  a  cavalry  attack, 


which  routed  the  enemy.  At  the  same  time 
their  left  was  broken,  and  the  troops  which 
had  been  engaging  it  were  free  to  hurry  off 
against  the  Austrian  right,  which  was  trying 
to  reach  the  bridges,  and  which  were  being 
held  in  check  with  difficulty  at  Essling. 
As  soon  as  the  archduke  saw  what  had 
happened  to  his  left  and  centre  he  retired, 
preferring  to  preserve  as  much  as  possible 
of  his  army  in  good  order.  The  French 
did  not  pursue.  The  battle  had  cost  them 
too  heavily.  But  if  the  Austrians  escaped 
from  Wagram  with  their  army,  and  if  their 
opponents  gained  little  more  than  the  name 
of  a  victory,  they  were  too  discouraged  to 
continue  the  war,  and  the  emperor  sued 
for  peace. 

This  peace  was  concluded  -in  October. 
Austria  was  forced  to  give  up  Trieste  and 
all  her  Adriatic  possessions,  to  cede  terri- 
tory to  Bavaria  and  to  the  Grand  Duchy 
of  Warsaw,  and  to  give  her  consent  to  the 
continental  system. 


THE   SETTING    UP   OF   THE   COLUMN. 

This  fine  print,  of  the  greatest  historical  interest  as  much  from  the  principal  subject  as  from  the  surrounding 
details,  is  due  to  the  talent  of  Zix,  one  of  the  cleverest  and  most  conscientious  artists  of  the  period.  It  has  been  ex- 
tremely well  engraved  by  Duplessis-Bertaux.  Zix  evidently  made  this  drawing  in  the  course  of  the  year  1810,  some 
months  before  the  inauguration  of  the  monument,  the  erection  of  which,  we  know,  occupied  not  more  than  four  years. 
The  weight  of  the  masses  of  bronze  forming  the  column  of  Austerlitz,  is  estimated  at  two  million  kilogrammes.  The 
total  expense  of  the  column  and  statue  reached  the  sum  of  one  million  nine  hundred  and  ninety-five  thousand  four 
hundred  and  seventeen  francs. 


THE    DIVORCE    OK   NAPOLEON    AND   JOSEPHINE. 

This  interesting  composition  by  Chasselat,  engraved  by  Bosselmann,  is  a  faithful  representation  of  the  account 
of  Monsieur  de  Bausset,  prefect  of  the  palace,  describing  the  divorce  scene  of  which  he  was  an  eye-witness,  and 
even  one  of  the  actors.  Here  is  the  fragment  of  this  curious  narration  which  seems  to  have  inspired  the  painter  : 

"  I  was  standing  near  the  door  when  the  emperor  opened  it  himself,  and,  seeing  me,  said  quickly:  'Come  in, 
Bausset,  and  close  the  door.'  I  entered  the  salon  and  perceived  the  empress  extended  on  the  floor,  uttering  the 
most  piercing  cries  and  moans.  '  No,  I  shall  never  survive  it,'  cried  the  unfortunate  creature.  Napoleon  addressed 
me  :  '  If  you  are  strong  enough  to  raise  Josephine,  carry  her  to  her  apartment  by  the  inner  staircase,  so  that  she  may 
receive  the  care  and  attention  her  condition  demands.'  I  obeyed,  and  lifted  the  empress,  whom  I  imagined  to  be  suf- 
fering from  a  nervous  attack,  .  .  .  etc."— DE  BAUSSET:  Memoires  sur  FintSrieur  du  Palais  Imp/rial.—  A.  D. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


THE  DIVORCE.— A  NEW  WIFE.— AX  HEIR  TO  THE  CROWN. 


JOSEPHINE    DIVORCED. 

To  further  the  universal  peace  he  de- 
sired; to  prevent  plots  among  his  subordi- 
nates who  would  aspire  to  his  crown  in 
case  of  his  sudden  death,  and  to  assure  a 
succession,  Napoleon  now  decided  to  take 
a  step  long  in  mind — to  divorce  Josephine, 
by  whom  he  no  longer  hoped  to  have 
heirs. 

In  considering  Napoleon's  divorce  of 
Josephine,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
stability  of  government  was  of  vital  neces- 
sity to  the  permanency  of  the  Napoleonic 
institutions.  Napoleon  had  turned  into 
practical  realities  most  of  the  reforms  de- 
manded in  1789.  True,  he  had  done  it  by 
the  exercise  of  despotism,  but  nothing  but 


the  courage,  the  will,  the  audacity  of  a 
despot  could  have  aroused  the  nation  in 
1799.  Napoleon  felt  that  these  institu- 
tions had  been  so  short  a  time  in  operation 
that  in  case  of  his  death  they  would  easily 
topple  over,  and  his  kingdom  go  to  pieces 
as  Alexander's  had.  If  he  could  leave  an 
heir,  this  disaster  would,  he  believed,  be 
averted. 

Then,  would  not  a  marriage  with  a  for- 
ejgn  princess  calm  the  fears  of  his  conti- 
nental enemies?  Would  they  not  see  in 
such  an  alliance  an  effort  on  the  part  of 
new,  liberal  France  to  adjust  herself  har- 
moniously to  the  system  of  government 
which  prevailed  on  the  Continent? 

Thus,  by  a  new  marriage,  he  hoped  to 
prevent  at  his  death  a  series  of  fresh  revo- 


1 66 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


lutions,  save  the  splendid  organization  he 
had  created,  and  put  France  in  greater 
harmony  with  her  environment.  It  is  to 
misunderstand  Napoleon's  scheme,  to  at- 
tribute this  divorce  simply  to  a  gigantic 
egotism.  To  assure  his  dynasty,  was  to 
assure  France  of  liberal  institutions.  His 
glorification  was  his  country's.  In  reality 
there  were  the  same  reasons  for  divorcing 
Josephine  that  there  had  been  for  taking 
the  crown  in  1804. 

Josephine  had  long  feared  a  separation. 
The  Bonapartes  had  never  cared  for  her, 
and  even  so  far  back  as  the  Egyptian  cam- 
paign had  urged  Napoleon  to  seek  a  di- 
vorce. Unwisely,  she  had  not  sought  in 
her  early  married  life  to  win  their  affection 
any  more  than  she  had  to  keep  Napoleon's  ; 
and  when  the  emperor  was  crowned,  they 
had  done  their  best  to  prevent  her  coro- 
nation. When,  for  state  reasons,  the  di- 
vorce seemed  necessary,  Josephine  had 
no  supporters  where  she  might  have  had 
many. 

Her  grief  was  more  poignant  because 
she»had  come  to  love  her  husband  with  a 
real  ardor.  The  jealousy  from  which  he 
had  once  suffered  she  now  felt,  and  Na- 
poleon certainly  gave  her  ample  cause  for 
it.  Her  anxiety  was  well  known  to  all  the 
court,  the  secretaries  Bourrienne  and  Me- 
neval,  and  Madame  de  Re"musat  being  her 
special  confidants.  Since  1807  it  had  been 
intense,  for  it  was  in  that  year  that  Fouche\ 
probably  at  Napoleon's  instigation,  tried 
to  persuade  the  empress  to  suggest  the 
divorce  herself  as  her  sacrifice  to  the 
country. 

After  Wagram  it  became  evident  to  her 
that  at  last  her  fate  was  sealed  ;  but  though 
she  beset  Meneval  and  all  the  members  of 
her  household  for  information,  it  was  only 
a  fortnight  before  the  public  divorce  that 
she  knew  her  fate.  It  was  Josephine's  own 
son  and  daughter,  Eugene  and  Hortense, 
who  broke  the  news  to  her  ;  and  it  was  on 
the  former  that  the  cruel  task  fell  of  in- 
dorsing the  divorce  in  the  Senate  in  the 
name  of  himself  and  his  sister. 

Josephine  was  terribly  broken  by  her  dis- 
grace, but  she  bore  it  with  a  sweetness  and 
dignity  which  does  much  to  make  posterity 
forget  her  earlier  frivolity  and  insincerity. 


"  I  can  never  forget  [says  Pasquier]  the  evening 
on  which  the  discarded  empress  did  the  honors  of 
her  court  for  the  last  time.  It  was  the  day  before 
the  official  dissolution.  A  great  throng  was  present, 
and  supper  was  served,  according  to  custom,  in  the 
gallery  of  Diana,  on  a  number  of  little  tables.  Jose- 
phine sat  at  the  centre  one,  and  the  men  went  around 
her,  waiting  for  that  particularly  graceful  nod  which 


she  was  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  on  those  with 
whom  she  was  acquainted.  I  stood  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  her  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  could  not 
help  being  struck  with  the  perfection  of  her  attitude 
in  the  presence  of  all  these  people  who  still  did  her 
homage,  while  knowing  full  well  that  it  was  for  the 
last  time  ;  that  in  an  hour  she  would  descend  from 
the  throne,  and  leave  the  palace  never  to  reenter  it. 
Only  women  can  rise  superior  to  such  a  situation, 
but  I  have  my  doubts  as  to  whether  a  second  one 
could  have  been  found  to  do  it  with  such  perfect 
grace  and  composure.  Napoleon  did  not  show  so 
bold  a  front  as  did  his  victim." 


There  is  no  doubt  but  that  Napoleon 
suffered  deeply  over  the  separation.  If 
his  love  had  lost  its  illusion,  he  was  genu- 
inely attached  to  Josephine,  and  in  a  way 
she  was  necessary  to  his  happiness.  After 
the  ceremony  of  separation,  he  was  to  go 
to  Saint  Cloud,  she  to  Malmaison.  While 
waiting  for  his  carriage,  he  returned  to  his 
study  in  the  palace.  For  a  long  time  he 
sat  silent  and  depressed,  his  head  on  his 
hand.  WThen  he  was  summoned  he  rose, 
his  face  distorted  with  pain,  and  went  into 
the  empress's  apartment.  Josephine  was 
alone. 

When  she  saw  the  emperor,  she  threw 
herself  on  his  neck,  sobbing  aloud.  He 
pressed  her  to  his  bosom,  kissing  her  again 
and  again,  until,  overpowered  with  emotion, 
she  fainted.  Leaving  her  to  her  women, 
he  hurried  to  his  carriage. 

Meneval,  who  saw  this  sad  parting,  re- 
mained with  Josephine  until  she  became 
conscious ;  and  when  he  went,  she  begged 
him  not  to  let  the  emperor  forget  her^and 
to  see  that  he  wrote  her  often. 

"  I  left  her,"  that  na'ive  admirer  and 
apologist  of  Napoleon  goes  on,  "grieved 
at  so  deep  a  sorrow  and  so  sincere  an  af- 
fection. I  felt  very  miserable  all  along  my 
route,  and  I  could  not  help  deploring  that 
the  rigorous  exactions  of  politics  should 
violently  break  the  bonds  of  an  affection 
which  had  stood  the  test  of  time,  to  impose 
another  union  full  of  uncertainty." 

Josephine  returned  to  Malmaison  to  live, 
but  Napoleon  took  care  that  she  should 
have,  in  addition,  another  home,  giving  her 
Navarre,  a  chateau  near  Evreux,  some  fifty 
miles  from  Paris.  She  had  an  income  of 
some  six  hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
and  the  emperor  showed  rare  thoughtful- 
ness  in  providing  her  with  everything  she 
could  want.  She  was  to  deny  herself 
nothing,  take  care  of  her  health,  pay  no 
attention  to  the  gossip  she  heard,  and  never 
doubt  of  his  love.  Such  were  the  constant 
recommendations  of  the  frequent  letters  he 
wrote  her.  Sometimes  he  went  to  see  her, 
and  he  told  her  all  the  details  of  his  life. 


CHOOSING  A   NEW   WIFE. 


167 


It  is  certain  that  he  neglected  no  opportu- 
nity of  comforting  her,  and  that  she,  on  her 
side,  believed  in  his  affection,  and  accepted 
her  lot  with  resignation  and  kindliness. 

MARRIAGE    OF    NAPOLEON     AND    MARIE 
LOUISE. 

Over  two  years  before  the  divorce  a  list 
of  the  marriageable  princesses  of  Europe 


had  been  drawn  up  for  Napoleon.  This 
list  included  eighteen  names  in  all,  the  two 
most  prominent  being  Marie  Louise  of 
Austria,  and  Anna  Paulowna,  sister  of 
Alexander  of  Russia.  At  the  Erfurt  con- 
ference the  project  of  a  marriage  with  a 
Russian  princess  had  been  discussed,  and 
Alexander  had  favored  it ;  but  now  that  an 
attempt  was  made  to  negotiate  the  affair, 
there  were  numerous  delays,  and  a  general 


NAPOLEON.      I8l2.  » 

Engraved  by  Laugier  in  1835,  from  the  etching  by  Vallot,  after  portrait  painted  by  David  in  1812. 


NAHOLEON   THE    GREAT   ("NAPOLEON    LE    GRAND").       l8l2. 

Engraved  by  Mecou,  after  a  portrait  painted  in  1812  by  Isabey. 


lukewarmness  which  angered  Napoleon. 
Without  waiting  for  the  completion  of  the 
Russian  negotiations,  he  decided  on  Marie 
Louise. 

The  marriage  ceremony  was  performed 
in  Vienna  on  March   12,   i8\o,  the  Arch- 


duke Charles  acting  for  Napoleon.  The 
emperor  first  saw  his  new  wife  some  days 
later  on  the  road  between  Soissons  and 
Compiegne,  where  he  had  gone  to  meet 
her  in  most  unimperial  haste,  and  in  con- 
tradiction to  the  pompous  and  complicated 


MARIE  LOUISE. 


ceremony  which  had  been  arranged  for 
their  first  interview.  From  the  first  he  was 
frankly  delighted  with  Marie  Louise.  In 
fact,  the  new  empress  was  a  most  attrac- 
tive girl,  young,  fresh,  modest,  well-bred, 
and  innocent.  She  entirely  filled  Napo- 


169 

and    he   certainly 


Icon's   ideal  of  a  wife, 
was  happy  with  her. 

Marie  Louise  in  marrying  Napoleon  had 
felt  that  she  was  a  kind  of  sacrificial  offer- 
ing, for  she  had  naturally  a  deep  horror  of 
the  man  who  had  caused  her  country  so 


MARIE    LOUISE    IN    ROYAL   ROBES.       l8lO. 

"Marie  Louise,  Archduchesse  d'Autriche,  Imperatrice,  Reine,  et  R^gente."    Engraved  by  Mecou,  after  Isabey. 


•5    a  -3  £> 

"1-1 

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el  *, 

V  <     ° 


•s  ..  s;  -s 


^  **  v 


S  CO 
O 

S  o  _ 

"o  u  S  "o 
he  a 
.5  Q 


•—      OT 

•°       ••         •      X"       a 

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>    SJ  bl 


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S  S'S'g  8 
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,"  c   o        S 


O  1-S 


5  e 


JOY  OVER    THE  KING   OF  ROME. 


171 


much  woe  ;  but  her  dread  was  soon  dis- 
pelled, and  she  became  very  fond  of  her 
husband. 

Outside  of  the  court  the  two  led  an 
amusingly  simple  life,  riding  together  in- 
formally early  in  the  morning,  in  a  gay 
Bohemian  way  ;  sitting  together  alone  in 
the  empress's  little  salon,  she  at  her  needle- 
work, he  with  a  book.  They  even  in- 
dulged now  and  then  in  quiet  little  larks  of 
their  own,"  as  one  day  when  Marie  Louise 
attempted  to  make  an  omelet  in  her  apart- 
ments. Just  as  she  was  completely  en- 
grossed in  her  work,  the  emperor  came  in. 
The  empress  tried  to  conceal  her  culinary 
operations,  but  Napoleon  detected  the 
odor. 

"  What  is  going  on  here  ?  There  is  a 
singular  smell,  as  if  something  was  being 
fried.  What,  you  are  making  an  omelet  ! 
Bah  !  you  don't  know  how  to  do  it.  I  will 
show  you  how  it  is  done." 

And   he    set    to   work    to    instruct    her. 


STANDARD  OF  THE  CHASSEURS  DE  LA  GARDE  OF  NAPOLEON  I. 

The  following  is  an  exact  description  of  this  famous  standard,  for 
the  reproduction  of  which  we  are  indebted  to  Prince  Victor  Napoleon. 
The  foundation  of  the  standard  is  of  green  silk,  which  is  embroidered 
all  over  with  oak  and  laurel  leaves  in  gold  and  silver.  In  the  centre  is  a 
large  hunting-horn  in  silver,  encircling  the  letters  E.  F.,  in  gold  ;  above, 
a  scroll  with  the  words  :  Chasseurs  de  la  Garde.  The  tricolor  scarf, 
fringed  with  gold,  has  at  the  ends,  which  are  embroidered  in  gold  and 
silver,  the  inscription :  Vive  FEmpereur,  in  letters  of  gold. 


They  got  on  very 
well  until  it  came  to 
tossing  it,  an  opera- 
tion Napoleon  in- 
sisted on  perform- 
ing himself,  with  the 
result  that  he  landed 
it  on  the  floor. 

BIRTH  OF    THE   KING 
OF    ROME. 

On  March  20, 
1811,  the  long-de- 
sired heir  to  the 
French  throne  was 
born.  It  had  been 
arranged  that  the 
birth  of  the  child 
shouldbeannounced 
to  the  people  by 
cannon  shot ;  twen- 
ty-one if  it  were  a 
princess, 
one  hun- 
dred and 
one  if  a 
prince. 
The  peo- 
p  1  e  who 
thronged 
the  quays 
and  streets 

about  the  Tuileries  waited  with  in- 
expressible anxiety  as  the  cannon 
boomed  forth  :  one — two — three. 
As  twenty-one  died  away  the  city 
held  its  breath  ;  then  came  twenty- 
two.  The  thundering  peals  which 
followed  it  were  drowned  in  the 
wildenthusiasmof  the  people.  For 
days  afterward,  enervated  by  joy 
and  the  endless  fetes  given  them, 
the  French  drank  and  sang  to  the 
King  of  Rome. 

In  all  these  rejoicings  none  were 
so  touching  as  at  Navarre,  where 
Josephine,  on  hearing  the  cannon, 
called  together  her  friends  and 
said,  "We,  too,  must  have  a.  fete. 
I  shall  give  you  a  ball,  and  the 
whole  city  of  Evreux  must  come 
and  rejoice  with  us." 

Napoleon  was  the  happiest  of 
men,  and  he  devoted  himself  to  his 
son  with  pride.  Reports  of  the 
boy's  condition  appear  frequently 
in  his  letters  ;  he  even  allowed 
him  to  be  taken  without  the  em- 
press's knowledge  to  Josephine, 
who  had  begged  to  see  him. 


NAPOLEON  AND  THE  KING  OF 
ROME. 

Bronze  from  the  collec- 
tion of  Prince  Victor.  This 
elegant  figure  is  a  faithful  re- 
production of  a  medallion 
made  by  Andrieu,  on  the 
birth  of  the  King  of  Rome. 


be  u 
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CHAPTER    XVIII. 


TROUBLE   WITH    THE    POPE.— THE   CONSCRIPTION.— EVASIONS   OF    THE 
BLOCKADE.— THE   TILSIT   AGREEMENT    BROKEN. 


CAUSES    OF    DISCONTENT    WITHIN    FRANCE. 

"THIS  child  in  concert  with  our  Eugene 
will  constitute  our  happiness  and  that  of 
France,"  so  Napoleon  had  written  Jose- 
phine after  the  birth  of  the  King  of  Rome, 
but  it  soon  became  evident  that  he  was 
wrong.  There  were  causes  of  uneasiness 
and  discontent  in  France  which  had  been  op- 
erating for  a  long  time,  and  which  were  on  ly 
aggravated  by  the  apparent  solidity  that 
an  heir  gave  to  the  Napoleonic  dynasty. 

First  among  these  was  religious  disaf- 
fection. Towards  the  end  of  1808,  being 


doubtful  of  the  Pope's  loyalty,  Napoleon 
had  sent  French  troops  to  Rome ;  the 
spring  following,  without  any  plausible 
excuse,  he  had  annexed  four  Papal  States 
to  the  kingdom  of  Italy  ;  and  in  1809  the 
Pope  had  been  made  a  prisoner  at  Savona. 
When  the  divorce  was  asked,  it  was  not  the 
Pope,  but  the  clergy  of  Paris,  who  had 
granted  it.  When  the  religious  marriage 
of  Marie  Louise  and  Napoleon  came  to 
be  celebrated,  thirteen  cardinals  refused  to 
appear  ;  the  "  black  cardinals  "  they  were 
thereafter  called,  one  of  their  punishments 
for  non-appearance  at  the  wedding  being 


NAPOLEON,  MARIE    LOL'ISE,  AND    THE    KING    OF    ROME. 

Artist  unknown. 


THE    KING   OF   ROME.      l8ll. 

Engraved  by  Desnoyers,  after  Gerard.     "  His  Majesty  the  King  of  Rome.     Dedicated  to  her  Majesty 
Imperial  and  Royal,  Marie  Louise." 


that  they  could  no  longer  wear  their  red 
gowns.  To  the  pious  all  this  friction 
with  the  fathers  of  the  Church  was  a  de- 
plorable irritation.  It  was  impossible  to 
show  contempt  for  the  authority  of  Pope 
and  cardinals  and  not  wound  one  of  the 
deepest  sentiments  of  France,  and  one 
which  ten  years  before  Napoleon  had 
braved  most  to  satisfy. 


To  the  irritation  against  the  emperor's 
church  policy  was  added  bitter  resentment 
against  the  conscription,  that  tax  of  blood 
and  muscle  demanded  of  the  country.  Na- 
poleon had  formulated  and  attempted  to 
make  tolerable  the  principle  born  of  the 
Revolution,  -which  declared  that  every 
male  citizen  of  age  owed  the  state  a  service 
of  blood  in  case  it  needed  him.  The  wis- 


"NAPOLEON    IN    HIS   CABINET."       THE   CHILD    AT   HIS   SIDE    IS    HIS   SON,    THE    KING   OF   ROME. 

The  manuscript  on  the  floor  of  the  cabinet  bears  the  date  "  1811."    Engraved  by  Weber,  after  Steuben. 

dom  of  his  management  of   the  conscrip-  motherless    must    leave    them  ;    aged    and 

tion  had  prevented  discontent  until  1807  ;  helpless  parents  no  longer  gave  immunity, 

then   the  draft   on   life   had   begun   to   be  Those  who  had  bought  their  exemption  by 

arbitrary  and  grievous.     The  laws  of  ex-  heavy  sacrifices  were  obliged  to  go.     Per- 

emptions  were  discarded.     The  "  only  son  sons  whom  the  law  made  subject  to  con- 

of  his  mother"  no  longer  remained  at  her  scription  in  1807,  were  called  out  in  1806  ; 

side.     The  father  whose  little  children  were  those  of   1808,  in   1807.     So  far  was  this 


THE   DUKE    OF    REICHSTADT. 

Engraved  by  W.  Bromley,  after  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence. 


premature  drafting  pushed,  that  the  armies 
were  said  to  be  made  up  of  "boy  soldiers," 
weak,  unformed  youths,  fresh  from  school, 
who  wilted  in  a  sun  like  that  of  Spain,  and 
dropped  out  in  the  march. 

At  the  rate  at  which  men  had  been 
killed,  however,  there  was  no  other  way  of 
keeping  up  the  army.  Between  1804  and 
1811  one  million  seven  hundred  thousand 
men  had  perished  in  battle.  What  wonder 
that  now  the  boys  of  France  were  pressed 
into  service  !  At  the  same  time  the  country 
was  overrun  with  the  lame,  the  blind,  the 
broken-down,  who  had  come  back  from 


war  to  live  on  their  friends  or  on  charity. 
It  was  not  only  the  funeral  crape  on 
almost  every  door  which  made  Frenchmen 
hate  the  conscription,  it  was  the  crippled 
men  whom  they  met  at  every  corner. 

While  within,  the  people  fretted  over  the 
religious  disturbances  and  the  abuses  of 
the  conscription,  without,  the  continental 
blockade  was  causing  serious  trouble  be- 
tween Napoleon  and  the  kings  he  ruled. 
In  spite  of  all  his  efforts  English  merchan- 
dise penetrated  everywhere.  The  fair  at 
Rotterdam  in  1807  was  filled  with  English 
goods.  They  passed  into  Italy  under  false 


paint  for  the  great  Windsor  gallery  the  portraits  of  all  the  heroes  "du  grand  hasard  de  Waterloo.'''' — A.  D. 


seals.  They  came  into  France  on  pretence 
that  they  were  for  the  empress.  Napoleon 
remonstrated  and  threatened,  but  he  could 
not  check  the  traffic.  The  most  serious 
trouble  caused  by  this  violation  of  the  Ber- 
lin Decree  was  with  Louis  the  King  of 
Holland.  In  1808  Napoleon  complained 
to  his  brother  that  more  than  one  hundred 
ships  passed  between  his  kingdom  and 


England  every  month,  and  a  year  later  he 
wrote  in  desperation,  "Holland  is  an  Eng- 
lish province." 

The  relations  of  the  brothers  grew  more 
and  more  bitter.  Napoleon  resented  the 
half  support  Louis  gave  him,  and  as  a  pun- 
ishment he  took  away  his  provinces,  filled 
his  forts  with  French  troops,  threatened 
him  with  war  if  he  did  not  break  up  the 


I78 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


trade.  So  far 
did  these  hos- 
tilities go,  that 
in  the  summer 
of  1810  King 
Louis  abdicated 
in  favor  of  his 
son  and  retired 
to  Austria.  •  Na- 
poleon tried  his 
best  to  persuade 
him  at  least  to 
return  into 
French  terri- 
tory, but  he  re- 
fused. This 
break  was  the 
sadder  because 
Louis  was  the 
brother  for 
whom  Napoleon 
had  really  done 
most. 

Joseph  was 
not  happier 
than  Louis. 
The  Spanish 
war  still  went 
on,  and  no  bet- 
ter than  in  1808. 
Joseph,  h  u  m- 


THE    DUKE   OF    REICHSTADT. 

Engraved  by  Benedetti,  after  Daffinger. 


refusal  to  enter 
into  French 
combinations, 
and  pay  tribute 
to  carry  on 
French  wars, 
had  suppressed 
his  revenues  as 
a  French  prince 
—  Bernadotte 
had  been  cre- 
ated Prince  of 
Ponte-Corvo  in 
1806  —  had  re- 
fused to  com- 
municate with 
him,  and  when 
the  King  of 
Rome  was  born 
had  sent  back 
the  Swedish 
decoration  of- 
fered. Finally, 
in  January, 
1812,  French 
troops  invaded 
certain  Swed- 
ish  posses- 
sions, and  the 
country  con- 
cluded an  alli- 


bled  and  unhappy,  had  even  prayed  to  be    ance  with  England  and  Russia, 
freed  of  the  throne.  With  Russia,  the  "  other   half  "  of   the 

The  relations  with  Sweden  were  seriously    machine,  the    ally  upon  whom  the   great 


strained.  Since  1810  Berna- 
dotte had  been  by  adoption 
the  crown  prince  of  that 
country.  Although  he  had 
emphatically  refused,  in 
accepting  the  position,  to 
agree  never  to  take  up 
arms  against  France,  as 
Napoleon  wished  him -to 
do,  he  had  later  consented 
to  the  continental  block- 
ade, and  had  declared  war 
against  England  ;  but  this 
declaration  both  England 
and  Sweden  considered 
simply  as  a.  fafon  de parler. 
Napoleon,  conscious  that 
Bernadotte  was  not  carry- 
ing out  the  blockade,  and 
irritated  by  his  persistent 


plan  of  Tilsit  and  Erfurt 
depended,  there  was  such 
a  bad  state  of  feeling  that, 
in  i8n.it  became  certain 
that  war  would  result. 
Causes  had  been  accumu- 
lating upon  each  side  since 
the  Erfurt  meeting. 

The  continental  system 
weighed  heavily  on  the 
interests  of  Russia.  The 
people  constantly  rebelled 
against  it  and  evaded  it  in 
every  way.  The  business 
depression  from  which  they 
suffered  they  charged  to 
Napoleon,  and  a  strong 
party  arose  in  the  kingdom 
which  used  every  method 
of  showing  the  czar  that 


PORTRAIT   OF  NAPOLEON    ON   A    BILLIARD    POCKET. 

Collection  of  Monsieur  Paul  le  Roux.  A  formidable  inventory  might  be  made  of  the  Napoleon  images  that  appeared 
from  1814  to  1815.  Not  only  are  they  innumerable,  but  they  assume  all  kinds  of  forms.  Napoleon  became  a  symbol,  a 
fetish,  a  household  god.  He  took  the  form  of  ink-bottles,  knives,  flasks,  candlesticks,  cake  moulds,  bells,  billiard  pockets, 
«tc.  It  would  be  impossible  to  enumerate  here  all  the  industrial  objects  invested  with  Napoleonic  shapes  by  the  naive 
«fforts  of  the  popular  imagination.  The  list  would  be  too  long.  The  collections  of  certain  fervent  Bonapartists  contain 
some  thousands  ;  that  of  Monsieur  Paul  le  Roux,  among  others,  who  has  placed  his  rich  collection  at  my  disposal.— A.  D. 


NAPOLEON. 


Engraved  in  1841  by  Louis,  after  a  painting  made  in  1837  by  Delaroche,  now  in  the  Standish  collection,  and 
called  the  "  Snuff-box."    Probably  the  finest  engraving  ever  made  of  a  Napoleon  portrait. 


the  "  unnatural  alliance,"  as  they  called 
the  agreement  between  Alexander  and  Na- 
poleon, was  unpopular.  The  czar  could 
not  refuse  to  listen  to  this  party.  More, 
he  feared  that  Napoleon  was  getting  ready 


to  restore  Poland.  He  was  offended  by 
the  haste  with  which  his  ally  had  dismissed 
the  idea  of  marriage  with  his  sister  and 
had  taken  up  Marie  Louise.  He  complained 
of  the  changes  of  boundaries  in  Germany. 


NAPOLEON.       l8l2. 

Facsimile  of  a  drawing  by  Girodet-Trioson,  made  from  life  in  the  emperor's  private  chapel,  March  8,  1812.  ("  Fac 
simile  d'un  Dessin  de  Girodet-Trioson,  fait  d'aprts  nature  i  la  chapelle  de  1'empereur  le  8  Mars,  1812.")  Engraved  by 
Maile.  Published  in  London  in  1827  by  R.  G.  Jones.  It  is  thought  to  give  a  more  correct  delineation  of  Napoleon  than 
do  the  paintings  by  Leffcvre,  David,  and  Isabey,  who  were  the  royal  painters,  and  painted,  under  the  instruction  of  Napo- 
leon, to  make  him  look  like  the  Caesars.  There  are  other  designs  by  Girodet.  Of  the  one  given  above,  Maile's  engraving 
is  the  only  copy  known.  Another  contains  three  heads,  one  of  which  is  a  sleeping  Napoleon.  It  was  made  only  a  month 
later,  at  the  theatre  of  St.  Cloud. 

Napoleon  saw  with  irritation  that  English  he   had   made   of   the    Berlin    and    Milan 

goods   were   admitted   into    Russia.      He  Decrees,  and  to  persecute  neutral  flags  of 

resented  the  failure  of  Alexander  to  join  all  nations,  even  of  those  so  far  away  from 

heartily  in  the  wide-sweeping  application  the  Continent  as  the  United  States.      He 


THE  ARMY  OF   TWENTY  NATIONS. 


181 


NAPOLEON    READING. 


By  Girodet.    From  the  collection  of  Monsieur  Cheramy  of  Paris. 


remembered  that  Russia  had  not  supported 
him  loyally  in  1809.  He  was  suspicious,  too, 
of  the  good  understanding  which  seemed 
to  be  growing  between  Sweden,  Russia, 
and  England. 

During  many  months  the  two  emperors 
remained  in  a  half-hostile  condition,  but 
the  strain  finally  became  too  great.  War 
was  inevitable,  and  Napoleon  set  about 
preparing  for  the  struggle.  During  the 
latter  months  of  1811  and  the  first  of  1812 
his  attention  was  given  almost  entirely  to 
the  military  and  diplomatic  preparations 
necessary  before  beginning  the  Russian 
campaign.  By  the  ist  of  May,  1812,  he 
was  ready  to  join  his  army,  which  he  had 
centred  at  Dresden.  Accompanied  by  Marie 
Louise  he  arrived  at  Dresden  on  the  i6th 
of  May,  1812,  where  he  was  greeted  by  the 
Emperor  of  Austria,  the  King  of  Prussia, 
and  other  sovereigns  with  whom  he  had 
formed  alliances. 

The  force  Napoleon  had  brought  to  the 
field  showed  graphically  the  extension  and 
the  character  of  the  France  of  1812.  The 
"  army  of  twenty  nations/'  the  Russians 
called  the  host  which  was  preparing  to  meet 


them,  and  the  expression  was  just, 
for  in  the  ranks  there  were  Span- 
ards,  Neapolitans,  Piedmontese, 
Slavs,  Kroats,  Bavarians,  Dutch- 
men, Poles,  Romans,  and  a  dozen 
other  nationalities,  side  by  side 
with  Frenchmen.  Indeed,  nearly 
one-half  the  force  was  said  to  be 
foreign.  The  Grand  Army,  as  the 
active  body  was  called,  numbered, 
to  quote  the  popular  figures,  six 
hundred  and  seventy-eight  thou- 
sand men.  It  is  sure  that  this  is 
an  exaggerated  number,  though 
certainly  over  half  a  million  men 
entered  Russia.  With  reserves, 
the  whole  force  numbered  one 
million  one  hundred  thousand. 
The  necessity  for  so  large  a  body 
of  reserves  is  explained  by  the 
length  of  the  line  of  communi- 
cation Napoleon  had  to  keep. 
From  the  Nieman  to  Paris  the 
way  must  be  open,  supply  sta- 
tion guarded,  fortified  towns 
equipped.  It  took  nearly  as 
many  men  to  insure  the  rear  of 
the  Grand  Army  as  it  did  to 
make  up  the  army  itself. 

With  this  imposing  force  at  his 
command,  Napoleon  believed  that 
he  could  compel  Alexander  to  sup- 
port the  continental  blockade,  for 


GIRODET-TRIOSON.       1767-1824. 

Portrait  by  himself.  Girodet  made  several  common- 
place official  portraits  of  Napoleon,  but  his  rough  pencil 
sketches  are  of  the  greatest  iconographic  value. 


EMPEROR   NAPOLEON.       1813. 

Engraved  by  Lefevre,  after  Steuben  ;  published  December  26,  1826. 


come  what  might  that  system  must  suc- 
ceed. For  it  the  reigning  house  had  been 
driven  from  Portugal,  the  Pope  despoiled 
and  imprisoned,  Louis  gone  into  exile,  Ber- 
nadotte  driven  into  a  new  alliance.  For  it 
the  Grand  Army  was  led  into  Russia.  It 
had  become,  as  its  inventor  proclaimed,  the 
fundamental  law  of  the  empire. 


Until  he  crossed  the  Nieman,  Napoleon 
preserved  the  hope  of  being  able  to  avoid 
war.  Numerous  letters  to  the  Russian  em- 
peror, almost  pathetic  in  their  overtures, 
exist.  But  Alexander  never  replied.  He 
simply  allowed  his  enemy  to  advance.  The 
Grand  Army  was  doomed  to  make  the 
Russian  campaign. 


ON   TO  MOSCOW. 


183 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


THE    RUSSIAN    CAMPAIGN.— THE    BURNING    OF    MOSCOW.— A    NEW    ARMY. 


THE 


ADVANCE    OF     THE    ARMY    OF    TWENTY 

NATIONS. 


IF  one  draws  a  triangle,  its  base  stretch- 
ing along  the  Nieman  from  Tilsit  to  Grod- 
no, its  apex  on  the  Elbe,  he  will  have  a 
rough  outline  of  the  "army  of  twenty  na- 
tions" as  it  lay  in  June,  1812.  Napoleon, 
some  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  thou- 
sand men  around  him,  was  at  Kowno,  hesi- 
tating to  advance,  reluctant  to  believe  that 
Alexander  would  not  make  peace. 

When  he  finally  moved,  it  was  not  with 
the  precision  and  swiftness  which  had  char- 
acterized his  former  campaigns.  When  he 
began  to  fight,  it  was  against  new  odds. 
He  found  that  his  enemies  had  been  study- 
ing the  Spanish  campaigns,  and  that  they 
had  adopted  the  tactics  which  had  so  nearly 
ruined  his  armies  in  the  Peninsula  :  they  re- 
fused to  give  him  a  general  battle,  retreat- 
ing constantly  before  him  ;  they  harassed 
his  separate  corps  with  indecisive  contests  ; 
they  wasted  the  country  as  they  went.  The 
people  aided  their  soldiers  as  the  Spaniards 
had  done.  "Tell  us  only  the' moment,  and 
we  will  set  fire  to  our  dwellings,"  said  the 
peasants. 

By  the  i2th  of  August,  Napoleon  was  at 


Smolensk,  the  key  of  Moscow.  At  a  cost 
of  twelve  thousand  men  killed  and  wounded, 
he  took  the  town,  only  to  find,  instead  of 
the  well-victualled  shelter  he  hoped,  a 
smoking  ruin.  The  French  army  had 
suffered  frightfully  from  sickness,  from 
scarcity  of  supplies,  and  from  useless  fight- 
ing on  the  march  from  the  Niemen  to  Smo- 
lensk. They  had  not  had  the  stimulus  of  a 
great  victory  ;  they  began  to  feel  that  this 
steady  retreat  of  the  enemy  was  only  a  fatal 
trap  into  which  they  were  falling.  Every 
consideration  forbade  them  to  march  into 
Russia  so  late  in  the  year,  yet  on  they  went 
towards  Moscow,  over  ruined  fields  and 
through  empty  villages.  This  terrible  pur- 
suit lasted  until  September  yth,  when  the 
Russians,  to  content  their  soldiers,  who 
were  complaining  loudly  because  they  were 
not  allowed  to  engage  the  French,  gave 
battle  at  Borodino,  the  battle  of  the  Mos- 
kova  as  the  French  call  it. 


THE     BATTLE    OF    BORODINO. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  this 
engagement,  Napoleon  issued  one  of  his 
stirring  bulletins  : 


ATTENTION!  THE  EMPEROR  HAS  HIS  EYE  ON  us. 
By  Raffet. 


THE    BRIDGE    OVER   THE   KOLOTSCHA   NEAR   BORODINO,    SEPTEMBER    17,    l8l2. 

From  a  sketch  made  at  the  time  by  an  officer  of  Napoleon's  army.  .  .  .  "The  bridge  behind  Borodino,  lead- 
ing over  the  Kolotscha  to  Gorki,  was,  on  September  ijth,  the  scene  of  a  terrible  fight.  This  memorable  battle  began 
by  the  taking  of  Borodino.  The  One  Hundred  and  Sixth  Regiment  of  the  Fourth  Army  Corps  were  charged  with 
that  enterprise,  and,  carried  away  by  their  success,  instead  of  waiting  to  destroy  the  Kolotscha  bridge,  they  dashed 
on  at  full  gallop  towards  the  heights  above  Gorki.  Here,  besides  being  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by  the  superior  num- 
bers of  the  Russians,  they  had  also  to  sustain  a  deadly  fire  from  works  thrown  up  near  Gorki,  which  barred  their 
passage.  Forced  back  to  the  bridge  with  great  loss,  they  would  have  been  utterly  destroyed,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
efforts  of  the  Ninety-second  Regiment,  who  hastened  to  their  assistance.  Although  both  during  and  after  the  battle, 
in  order  to  render  the  bridge  practicable,  they  had  cleared  away  numbers  of  the  dead  bodies  on  it  by  throwing  them 
into  the  river,  there  still  remained  only  too  many  heaped  up  on  the  banks,  affording  a  terrible  evidence  of  the  battle 
of  Mojalsk  that  had  just  taken  place." — Extract  from  the  Diary  of  an  Eye-witness  of  the  Russian  Campaign. 


"  Soldiers  !  Here  is  the  battle  which  you  have  so 
long  desired  !  Henceforth  the  victory  depends  upon 
you  ;  it  is  necessary  for  us.  It  will  give  you  abun- 
dance, good  winter  quarters,  and  a  speedy  return  to 
your  country  !  Behave  as  you  did  at  Austerlitz,  at 
Friedland,  at  Vitebsk,  at  Smolensk,  and  the  most 
remote  posterity  will  quote  with  pride  your  conduct 
on  this  day  ;  let  it  say  of  you  :  he  was  at  the  great 
battle  under  tfie  walls  of  Moscow." 

The  French  gained  the  battle  at  Boro- 
dino, at  a  cost  of  some  thirty  thousand 
men,  but  they  did  not  destroy  the  Russian 
army.  Although  the  Russians  lost  fifty 
thousand  men,  they  retreated  in  good 
order.  Under  the  circumstances,  a  vic- 
tory which  allowed  the  enemy  to  retire  in 
order  was  of  little  use.  It  was  Napoleon's 
fault,  the  critics  said  ;  he  was  inactive. 
But  it  was  not  sluggishness  which  troubled 


Napoleon  at  Borodino.  He  had  a  new 
enemy — a  headache.  On  the  day  of  the 
battle  he  suffered  so  that  he  was  obliged 
to  retire  to  a  ravine  to  escape  the  icy  wind. 
In  this  sheltered  spot  he  paced  up  and 
down  all  day,  giving  his  orders  from  the 
reports  brought  him,  for  he  could  see  but 
a  portion  of  the  field. 


THE    BURNING    OF    MOSCOW. 

Moscow  was  entered  on  the  i5th  of  Sep- 
tember. Here  the  French  found  at  last 
food  and  shelter,  but  only  for  a  few  hours. 
That  night  Moscow  burst  into  flames,  set 
on  fire  by  the  authorities,  by  whom  it  had 
been  abandoned.  It  was  three  days  before 
the  fire  was  arrested.  It  would  cost  Rus- 


ON   THE   HIGH    ROAD    FROM    MOJA1SKA  TO    KRYMSKo'lE.      SEPTEMBER    18,    1812. 


From  a  sketch  made  at  the  time  by  an  officer  of  Napoleon's  army.  .  .  .  "  It  was  not  uncommon  to  find  in  the 
rooms  rows  of  corpses  lying  on  the  floor  in  the  same  order  they  had  occupied  while  yet  alive  ;  while  others  who  had 
escaped  from  the  flames,  but  horribly  mutilated,  sought  to  prolong  their  miserable  existence  by  some  moments,  in  a 
manner  pitiable  to  witness."- Extract  from  the  Diary  of  an  Eye-witness  of  the  Russian  Campaign^ 


BIVOUAC   NEAR   MIKALEWKA,    NOVEMBER   7,    1812. 

From  a  sketch  made  at  the  time  by  an  officer  of  Napoleon's  army. 


BESIDE  THE    ROAD,    NOT   FAR    FROM    PNEWA,   NOVEMBER   8,    l8l2. 

From  a  sketch  made  at  the  time  by  an  officer  of  Napoleon's  army.  .  .  .  "At  the  first  milestone,  on  the  left, 
might  be  seen  a  group  gathered  round  a  melancholy  fire,  fed  with  broken  wheels  and  bits  of  gun-carriages,  by  which 
they  were  trying  to  warm  their  benumbed  limbs.  Behind  this  group  stand  the  orderlies,  attentive  to  the  smallest  sign. 
Do  you  know  the  man  in  the  simple  gray  overcoat,  somewhat  disguised  by  his  hat  of  fur,  who  had  led  us  like  a  bril- 
liant meteor  to  battle  and  to  victory  ?  It  is  the  emperor.  Who  among  us  might  fathom  that  mighty  soul  and  read 
what  was  passing  in  it  as  he  gazed  at  that  miserable  army  ?  His  enemies  have  insulted  him  and  have  sought  to  trample 
his  glory  in  the  dust.  Yet  their  punishment  would  be  too  cruel,  were  their  hearts  wrung  to-day  as  his  was  in  that 
moment.  He  who  beholds  true  grandeur,  abandoned  by  fortune,  forgets  his  own  griefs  and  suffering-;  and  half  recon- 
ciled to  our  hard  fate  we  defiled  past  him  in  mournful  silence." — Extract  from  the  Diary  of  an  Eye-witness  of  the 
Russian  Campaign. 


sia  two  hundred  years  of  time,  two  hundred 
millions  of  money,  to  repair  the  loss  which 
she  had  sustained,  Napoleon  wrote  to 
France. 

Suffering,  disorganization,  pillage,  fol- 
lowed the  disaster.  But  Napoleon  would 
not  retreat.  He  hoped  to  make  peace. 
Moscow  was  still  smoking  when  he  wrote 
a  long  description  of  the  conflagration  to 
Alexander.  The  closing  paragraph  ran  : 

"  I  wage  war  against  your  Majesty  without  ani- 
mosity ;  a  note  from  you  before  or  after  the  last 
battle  would  have  stopped  my  march,  and  I  should 
even  have  liked  to  have  sacrificed  the  advantage  of 
entering  Moscow.  If  your  Majesty  retains  some 
remains  of  your  former  sentiments,  you  will  take  this 
letter  in  good  part.  At  all  events,  you  will  thank  me 
for  giving  you  an  account  of  what  is  passing  at 
Moscow." 


RETREAT    FROM    MOSCOW. 

"  I  will  never  sign  a  peace  as  long  as  a 
single  foe  remains  on  Russian  ground,"  the 
Emperor  Alexander  had  said  when  he  heard 
that  Napoleon  had  crossed  the  Nieman. 


He  kept  his  word  in  spite  of  all  Napoleon's 
overtures.  The  French  position  grew 
worse  from  day  to  -day.  No  food,  no  fresh 
supplies  ;  the  cold  increasing,  the  army  dis- 
heartened, the  number  of  Russians  around 
Moscow  growing  larger.  Nothing  but  a 
retreat  could  save  the  remnant  of  the 
French.  It  began  on  October  ipth,  one 
hundred  and  fifteen  thousand  men  leaving 
Moscow.  They  were  followed  by  forty 
thousand  vehicles  loaded  with  the  sick  and 
with  what  supplies  they  could  get  hold  of. 
The  route  was  over  the  fields  devastated 
a  month  before.  The  Cossacks  harassed 
them  night  and  day,  and  the  cruel  Russian 
cold  dropped  from  the  skies,  cutting  them 
down  like  a  storm  of  scythes.  Before 
Smolensk  was  reached,  thousands  of  the 
retreating  army  were  dead. 

Napoleon  had  ordered  that  provisions 
and  clothing  should  be  collected  at  Smo- 
lensk. When  he  reached  the  city  he  found 
that  his  directions  had  not  been  obeyed. 
The  army,  exasperated  beyond  endurance 
by  this  disappointment,  fell  into  complete 


THE  MA  LET  CONSPIRACY. 


187 


and  frightful  disorganization,  and  the  rest 
of  the  retreat  was  like  the  falling  back  of 
a  conquered  mob. 

There  is  no  space  here  for  the  details  of 
this  terrible  march  and  of  the  frightful  pas- 
sage of  the  Beresina.  The  terror  of  the 
cold  and  starvation  wrung  cries  from 
Napoleon  himself. 

"  Provisions,  provisions,  provisions,"  he 
wrote  on  November  2pth  from  the  right 
bank  of  the  Beresina.  "  Without  them 
there  is  no  knowing  to  what  horrors  this 
undisciplined  mass  will  not  proceed." 

And  again  :  "  The  army  is  at  its  last 
extremity.  It  is  impossible  for  it  to  do 
anything,  even  if  it  were  a  question  of  de- 
fending Paris." 

The  army  finally  reached  the  Nieman. 
The  last  man  over  was  Marshal  Ney.  "  Who 
are  you  ?  "  he  was  asked.  "  The  rear  guard 
of  the  Grand  Army,"  was  the  sombre  reply 
of  the  noble  old  soldier. 

Some  forty  thousand  men  crossed  the 
river,  but  of  these  there  were  many  who 
could  do  nothing  but  crawl  to  the  hos- 
pitals, asking  for  "  the  rooms  where  peo- 
ple die."  It  was  true,  as  Desprez  said, 
the  Grand  Army  was  dead. 

It  was  on  this  horrible  retreat  that  Na- 
poleon received  word  that  a  curious  thing 
had  happened  in  Paris.  A  general  and  an 


abbe,  both  political  prisoners,  had  escaped, 
and  actually  had  succeeded  in  the  prelimi- 
naries of  a  coup  d'ttat  overturning  the 
empire,  and  substituting  a  provisional  gov- 
ernment. 

They  had  carried  out  their  scheme  sim- 
ply by  announcing  that  Napoleon  was 
dead,  and  by  reading  a  forged  proclama- 
tion from  the  senate  to  the  effect  that  the 
imperial  government  was  at  an  end  and  a 
new  one  begun.  The  authorities  to  whom 
these  conspirators  had  gone  had  with  but 
little  hesitation  accepted  their  orders.  They 
had  secured  twelve  hundred  soldiers,  had 
locked  up  the  prefect  of  police,  and  had 
taken  possession  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

The  foolhardy  enterprise  went,  of  course, 
only  a  little  way,  but  far  enough  to  show 
Paris  that  the  day  of  easy  revolution  had 
not  passed,  and  that  an  announcement  of 
the  death  of  Napoleon  did  not  bring  at 
once  a  cry  of  "  Long  liv.e  the  King  of 
Rome ! "  The  news  of  the  Malet  con- 
spiracy was  an  astonishing  revelation  to 
Napoleon  himself  of  the  instability  of 
French  public  sentiment.  He  saw  that  the 
support  on  which  he  had  depended  most 
to  insure  his  institutions,  that  is,  an  heir  to 
his  throne,  was  set  aside  at  the  word  of  a 
worthless  agitator.  The  impression  made 
on  his  generals  by  the  news  was  one  of 


ON'   THE    ROAD    BETWEEN    BRAUNSBERG   AND    EI-BING,    DECEMBER   21,    l8l2. 

From  a  sketch  made  at  the  time  by  an  officer  of  Napoleon's  army.     The  figure  with  the  sword  under  the  arm  is. 
Napoleon  in  the  costume  worn  in  the  Russian  campaign. 


i88 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


consternation  and  despair.  The  emperor 
read  in  their  faces  that  they  believed  his 
good  fortune  was  waning.  He  decided  to 
go  to  Paris  as  soon  as  possible. 

On  December  5th  he  left  the  army,  and 
after  a  perilous  journey  of  twelve  days 
reached  the  French  capital. 


gesting   that   since  his    good    genius   had 
failed  him  once,  it  might  again. 

No  one  realized  the  gravity  of  the  posi- 
tion as  Napoleon  himself,  but  he  met  his 
household,  his  ministers,  the  Council  of 
State,  the  Senate,  with  an  imperial  self- 
confidence  and  a  sang  froid  which  are  awe- 


HOSPITALITY    FROM    RUSSIAN    WOMEN. 

From  a  sketch  made  at  the  time  by  an  officer  of  Napoleon's  army. 


EXPLAINING    THE    RETREAT    FROM    MOSCOW. 

It  took  as  great  courage  to  face  France 
now  as  it  had  taken  audacity  to  attempt 
the  invasion  of  Russia.  The  grandest 
army  the  nation  had  ever  sent  out  was  lying 
behind  him  dead.  His  throne  had  tot- 
tered for  an  instant  in  sight  of  all  France. 
Hereafter  he  could  not  believe  himself 
invincible.  Already  his  enemies  were  sug- 


inspiring  under  the  circumstances.  The 
horror  of  the  situation  of  the  army  was 
not  known  in  Paris  on  his  arrival,  but 
reports  came  in  daily  until  the  truth  was 
clear  to  everybody.  But  Napoleon  never 
lost  countenance.  The  explanations  nec- 
essary for  him  to  give  to  the  Senate,  to  his 
allies,  and  to  his  friends,  had  all  the  seren- 
ity and  the  plausibility  of  a  victor — a  vic- 
tor who  had  suffered,  to  be  sure,  but  not 


a  s 

5    rt 
•o  cu 


1 

«      05 


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III 

"3  "3  "S 


NAPOLEON   AFTER  THE   RUSSIAN   CAMPAIGN. 

In  this  lithograph  Raffet  shows  Napoleon,  just  after  the  Russian  campaign,  at  the  head  of  the  young  conscripts 
hastily  levied— his  Marie  Louises— hardly  more  than  children,  but  thirsting  for  war  and  glory.  "Sire, "said  Ney 
to  the  emperor,  "give  me  some  of  those  young  and  valiant  conscripts.  I  will  lead  them  whither  you  will.  Our 
old  moustaches  know  as  much  as  we  do  ;  they  understand  the  ground  and  the  difficulties  ;  but  those  good  children  are 
frightened  by  no  obstacles,  they  look  neither  to  right  nor  left,  but  straight  ahead.  It  is  glory  they  long  for." 


through  his  own  rashness  or  mismanage- 
ment. The  following  quotation  from  a 
letter  to  the  King  of  Denmark  illustrates 
well  his  public  attitude  towards  the  inva- 
sion and  the  retreat  from  Moscow  : 

"  The  enemy  were  always  beaten,  and  captured  nei- 
ther an  eagle  nor  a  gun  from  my  army.  On  the  7th  of 
November  the  cold  became  intense  ;  all  the  roads  were 
found  impracticable  ;  thirty  thousand  horses  perished 
between  the  7th  and  the  i6th.  A  portion  of  our  bag- 
gage and  artillery  wagons  was  broken  and  aban- 
doned ;  our  soldiers,  little  accustomed  to  such  weather, 
could  not  endure  the  cold.  They  wandered  from  the 
ranks  in  quest  of  shelter  for  the  night,  and,  having 
no  cavalry  to  protect  them,  several  thousands  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy's  light  troops.  General  San- 
son,  chief  of  the  topographic  corps,  was  captured  by 
some  Cossacks  while  he  was  engaged  in  sketching  a 
position.  Other  isolated  officers  shared  the  same  fate. 
My  losses  are  severe,  but  the  enemy  cannot  attribute 
to  themselves  the  honor  of  having  inflicted  them. 
My  army  has  suffered  greatly,  and  suffers  still,  but 
this  calamity  will  cease  with  the  cold." 

To  every  one  he  declared  that  it  was  the 
Russians,  not  he,  who  had  suffered.  It  was 
their  great  city,  not  his,  which  was  burnt  ; 
their  fields,  not  his,  which  were  devastated. 
They  did  not  take  an  eagle,  did  not  win  a 
battle.  It  was  the  cold,  the  Cossacks,  which 
had  done  the  mischief  to  the  Grand  Army  ; 
and  that  mischief  ?  Why,  it  would  be  soon 


repaired.  "  I  shall  be  back  on  the  Nieman 
in  the  spring." 

But  the  very  man  who  in  public  and  pri- 
vate calmed  and  reassured  the  nation,  was 
sometimes  himself  so  overwhelmed  at  the 
thought  of  the  disaster  which  he  had  just 
witnessed,  that  he  let  escape  a  cry  which 
showed  that  it  was  only  his  indomitable 
will  which  was  carrying  him  through  ;  that 
his  heart  was  bleeding.  In  the  midst  of  a 
glowing  account  to  the  legislative  body  of 
his  success  during  the  invasion,  he  sud- 
denly stopped.  "  In  a  few  nights  every- 
thing changed.  I  have  suffered  great  losses. 
They  would  have  broken  my  heart  if  I 
had  been  accessible  to  any  other  feelings 
than  the  interest,  the  glory,  and  the  future 
of  my  people." 

In  the  teeth  of  the  terrible  news  coming 
daily  to  Paris,  Napoleon  began  prepara- 
tions for  another  campaign.  To  every  one 
he  talked  of  victory  as  certain.  Those 
who  argued  against  the  enterprise  he  si- 
lenced peremptorily.  "  You  should  say," 
he  wrote  Eugene,  "and  yourself  believe, 
that  in  the  next  campaign  I  shall  drive  the 
Russians  back  across  the  Nieman."  With 
the  first  news  of  the  passage x>f  the  Bere- 
sina  chilling  them,  the  Senate  voted  an  army 
of  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men  ; 


THE  FOE  IN  1813. 


191 


the  allies  were  called  upon  ;  even  the  marine 
was  obliged  to  turn  men  over  to  the  land 
force. 

But  something  besides  men  was  neces- 
sary. An  army  means  muskets  and  pow- 
der and  sabres,  clothes  and  boots  and 
headgear,  wagons  and  cannon  and  caisson  ; 
and  all  these  it  was  necessary  to  manu- 
facture afresh.  The  task  was  gigantic  ; 
but  before  the  middle  of  April  it  was  com- 
pleted, and  the  emperor  was  ready  to  join 
his  army. 

The  force  against  which  Napoleon  went 


who  commanded  a  Prussian  division,  went 
over  to  the  enemy.  It  was  a  dishonorable 
action  from  a  military  point  of  view,  but 
his  explanation  that  he  deserted  as  "a 
patriot  acting  for  the  welfare  of  his  coun- 
try "touched  Prussia;  and  though  thaking 
disavowed  the  act,  the  people  applauded  it. 
Throughout  the  German  states  the  feel- 
ing against  Napoleon  was  bitter.  A  veri- 
table crusade  had  been  undertaken  against 
him  by  such  men  as  Stein,  and  most  of  the 
youth  of  the  country  were  united  in  the 
Tugendbund,  or  League  of  Virtue,  which 


After  a  wash  drawing  by  Charlet,  in  the  collection  of  Madame 
Charlet.     Hitherto  unpublished. 


in  1813  was  the  most  formidable,  in  many 
respects,  he  had  ever  encountered.  Its 
strength  was  greater.  It  included  Russia, 
England,  Spain,  Prussia,  and  Sweden,  and 
the  allies  believed  Austria  would  soon  join 
them.  An  element  of  this  force  more 
powerful  than  its  numbers  was  its  spirit. 
The  allied  armies  fought  Napoleon  in  1813 
as  they  would  fight  an  enemy  of  freedom. 
Central  Europe  had  come  to  feel  that  fur- 
ther French  interference  was  intolerable. 
The  war  had  become  a  crusade.  The  ex- 
tent of  this  feeling  is  illustrated  by  an 
incident  in  the  Prussian  army.  In  the  war 
of  1812  Prussia  was  an  ally  of  the  French, 
but  at  the  end  of  the  year  General  Yorck, 


had  sworn  to  take  arms  for  German  free- 
dom. 

When  Alexander  followed  the  French 
across  the  Nieman,  announcing  that  he 
came  bringing  "deliverance  to  Europe," 
and  calling  on  the  people  to  unite  against 
the  "  common  enemy,"  he  found  them 
quick  to  understand  and  respond. 

Thus,  in  1813  Napoleon  did  not  go 
against  kings  and  armies,  but  against  peo- 
ples. No  one  understood  this  better  than 
he  did  himself,  and  he  counselled  his  allies 
that  it  was  not  against  the  foreign  enemy 
alone  that  they  had  to  protect  themselves. 
"  There  is  one  more  dangerous  to  be 
feared — the  spirit  of  revolt  and  anarchy." 


AFTER    RAKFET. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


CAMPAIGN    OF    1813.— CAMPAIGN    OF    1814.— ABDICATION. 


THE    CAMPAIGN    OF    1813. 

THE  campaign  opened  May  2,  1813, 
southwest  of  Leipsic,  with,  the  battle  of 
Liitzen.  It  was  Napoleon's  victory,  though 
he  could  not  follow  it  up,  as  he  had  no 
cavalry.  The  moral  effect  of  Liitzen  was 
excellent  in  the  French  army.  Among  the 
allies  there  was  a  return  to  the  old  dread 
of  the  "  monster."  By  May  8th  the  French 
occupied  Dresden  ;  from  there  they  crossed 
the  Elbe,  and  on  the  2ist  fought  the  battle 
of  Bautzen,  another  incomplete  victory  for 
Napoleon.  The  next  day,  in  an  engage- 
ment with  the  Russian  rear  guard,  Mar- 
shal Duroc,  one  of  Napoleon's  warmest 
and  oldest  friends,  was  killed.  It  was  the 
second  marshal  lost  since  the  campaign 
began,  Bessieres  having  been  killed  at 
Liitzen. 

The  French  occupied  Breslau  on  June 
ist,  and  three  days  later  an  armistice  was 
signed,  lasting  until  August  loth.  It  was 
hoped  that  peace  might  be  concluded  dur- 


ing this  armistice.  At  that  moment  Aus- 
tria held  the  key  to  the  situation.  The 
allies  saw  that  they  were  defeated  if  they 
could  not  persuade  her  to  join  them.  Na- 
poleon, his  old  confidence  restored  by  a 
series  of  victories,  hoped  to  keep  his  Aus- 
trian father-in-law  quiet  until  he  had 
crushed  the  Prussians  and  driven  the  Rus- 
sians across  the  Nieman.  Austria  saw  her 
power,  and  determined  to  use  it  to  regain 
territory  lost  in  1805  and  1809,  and  Met- 
ternich  came  to  Dresden  to  see  Napoleon. 
Austria  would  keep  peace  with  France,  he 
said,  if  Napoleon  would  restore  Illyria  and 
the  Polish  provinces,  would  send  the  Pope 
back  to  Rome,  give  up  the  protectorate  of 
the  Confederation  of  the  Rhine,  restore 
Naples  and  Spain.  Napoleon's  amazement 
and  indignation  were  boundless. 

"  How  much  has  England  given  you  for 
playing  this  role  against  me,  Metternich?" 
he  asked. 

A  semblance  of  a  congress  was  held  at 
Prague  soon  after,  but  it  was  only  a  mock- 


NAPOLEON    AND    POPE    PIUS   VII.    IN   CONFERENCE   AT   FONTAINEBLEAU. 

Engraved  by  Robinson,  after  a  painting  made  in  1836  by  Wilkie. 


ery.  Such  was  the  exasperation  and  suf- 
fering of  Central  Europe,  that  peace  could 
only  be  reached  by  large  sacrifices  on  Na- 
poleon's part.  These  he  refused  to  make. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  France  and  his 
allies  begged  him  to  compromise  ;  that  his 
wisest  counsellors  advised  him  to  do  so. 
But  he  repulsed  with  irritation  all  such 
suggestions.  "  You  bore  me  continually 


about  the  necessity  of  peace,"  he  wrote 
Savary.  "  I  know  the  situation  of  my 
empire  better  than  you  do  ;  no  one  is 
more  interested  in  concluding  peace  than 
myself,  but  I  shall  not  make  a  dishonor- 
able peace,  or  one  that  would  see  us  at 
war  again  in  six  months.  .  .  .  These 
things  do  not  concern  you." 

By  the  middle  of  August  the  campaign 


194 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


began.  The  French  had  in  the  field  some 
three  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  men. 
This  force  was  surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
armies,  Swedish,  Russian,  Prussian,  and 
Austrian,  in  all  some  eight  hundred  thou- 
sand men.  The  leaders  of  this  hostile  force 
included,  besides  the  natural  enemies  of 
France,  Bernadotte,  heir-apparent  to  the 
throne  of  Sweden,  who  had  fought  with 
Napoleon  in  Italy,  and  General  Moreau, 
the  hero  of  Hohenlinden.  Moreau  was 
on  Alexander's  staff.  He  had  reached  the 
army  the  night  that  the  armistice  expired, 
having  sailed  from  the  United  States  on  the 
2ist  of  June,  at  the  invitation  of  the  Rus- 
sian emperor,  to  aid  in  the  campaign  against 
France.  He  had  been  greeted  by  the  allies 
with  every  mark  of  distinction.  Another 
deserter  on  the  allies'  staff  was  the  eminent 
military  critic  Jomini.  In  the  ranks  were 
stragglers  from  all  the  French  corps,  and 
the  Saxons  were  threatening  to  leave  the 
French  in  a  body,  and  go  over  to  the  allies. 

The  second  campaign  of  1813  opened 
brilliantly  for  Napoleon,  for  at  Dresden  he 
took  twenty  thousand  prisoners,  and  cap- 
tured sixty  cannon.  The  victory  turned  the 
anxiety  of  Paris  to  hopefulness,  and  their 
faith  in  Napoleon's  star  was  further  re- 
vived by  the  report  that  Moreau  had  fallen, 
both  legs  carried  off  by  a  French  bullet. 
Moreau  himself  felt  that  fate  was  friendly 
to  the  emperor.  "  That  rascal  Bonaparte 
is  always  lucky,"  he  wrote  his  wife,  just 
after  the  amputation  of  his  legs. 

But  there  was  something  stronger  than 
luck  at  work  :  the  allies  were  animated  by 
a  spirit  of  nationality,  indomitable  in  its 
force,  and  they  were  following  a  plan  which 
was  sure  to  crush  Napoleon  in  the  long  run. 
It  was  one  laid  out  by  Moreau  ;  a  general 
battle  was  not  to  be  risked,  but  the  corps 
of  the  French  were  to  be  engaged  one  by 
one,  until  the  parts  of  the  army  were  dis- 
abled. This  plan  was  carried  out.  In  turn 
Vandamme,Oudinot,  Macdonald,  Ney,  were 
defeated,  and  in  October  the  remnants  of 
the  French  fell  back  to  Leipsic.  Here 
the  horde  that  surrounded  them  was  sud- 
denly enlarged.  The  Bavarians  had  gone 
over  to  the  allies. 

The  three  days'  battle  of  Leipsic  ex- 
hausted the  French,  and  they  were  obliged 
to  make  a  disastrous  retreat  to  the  Rhine, 
which  they  crossed  November  ist.  Ten 
days  later  the  emperor  was  in  Paris. 

The  situation  of  France  at  the  end  of 
1813  was  deplorable.  The  allies  lay  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Rhine.  The  battle  of 
Vittoria  had  given  the  Spanish  boundary 
to  Wellington,  and  the  English  and  Spanish 


armies  were  on  the  frontier.  The  allies 
which  remained  with  the  French  were  not 
to  be  trusted.  "All  Europe  was  marching 
with  us  a  year  ago,"  Napoleon  said  ;  "to-day 
all  Europe  is  marching  against  us."  There 
was  despair  among  his  generals,  alarm  in 
Paris.  Besides,  there  seemed  no  human 
means  of  gathering  up  a  new  army.  Where 
were  the  men  to  come  from  ?  France  was 
bled  to  death.  She  could  give  no  more. 
Her  veins  were  empty. 

"  This  is  the  truth,  the  exact  truth,  and 
such  is  the  secret  and  the  explanation  of 
all  that  has  since  occurred,"  says  Pasquier. 
"  With  these  successive  levies  of  conscrip- 
tions, past,  present,  and  to  come  ;  with  the 
Guards  of  Honor;  with  the  brevet  of  sub- 
lieutenant forced  on  the  young  men  apper- 
taining to  the  best  families,  after  they  had 
escaped  the  conscript  lot,  or  had  supplied 
substitutes  in  conformity  with  the  pro- 
visions of  the  law,  there  did  not  remain  a 
single  family  which  was  not  in  anxiety  or 
in  mourning." 

Yet  hedged  in  as  he  was  by  enemies, 
threatened  by  anarchy,  supported  by  a 
fainting  people,  Napoleon  dallied  over  the 
peace  the  allies  offered.  The  terms  were 
not  dishonorable.  France  was  to  retire,  as 
the  other  nations,  within  her  natural  bound- 
aries, which  they  designated  as  the  Rhine, 
the  Alps,  and  the  Pyrenees.  But  the  em- 
peror could  not  believe  that  Europe,  whom 
he  had  defeated  so  often,  had  power  to  con- 
fine him  within  such  limits.  He  could  not 
believe  that  such  a  peace  would  be  stable, 
and  he  began  preparations  for  resistance. 
Fresh  levies  of  troops  were  made.  The 
Spanish  frontier  he  attempted  to  secure  by 
making  peace  with  Ferdinand,  recognizing 
him  as  King  of  Spain.  He  tried  to  settle 
his  trouble  with  the  Pope. 

While  he  struggled  to  simplify  the  situa- 
tion, to  arouse  national  spirit,  and  to  gather 
reinforcements,  hostile  forces  multiplied 
and  closed  in  upon  him.  The  allies  crossed 
the  Rhine.  The  corps  tigislatif  took  advan- 
tage of  his  necessity  to  demand  the  resto- 
ration of  certain  rights  which  he  had  taken 
from  them.  In  his  anger  at  their  audacity, 
the  emperor  alienated  public  sympathy  by 
dissolving  the  body.  "  I  stood  in  need  of 
something  to  console  me,"  he  told  them, 
"  and  you  have  sought  to  dishonor  me.  I 
was  expecting  that  you  would  unite  in  mind 
and  deed  to  drive  out  the  foreigner  ;  you 
have  bid  him  come.  Indeed,  had  I  lost  two 
battles,  it  would  not  have  done  France 
any  greater  evil."  To  crown  his  evil 
day,  Murat,  Caroline's  husband,  now  King 
of  Naples,  abandoned  him.  This  betrayal 


Etched  by  Ruet,  after  Meissoaier.  Original  in  Walters's  gallery,  Baltimore.  Meissonier  was  fond  of  short  titles, 
and  very  often  in  his  historical  works  made  choice  of  only  a  simple  date.  Among-  such  titles  are,  1806,  1807,  1814,  which 
might  very  well  be  replaced  by.  Battle  of  Jena,  Friedland,  and  Campaign  of  France.  This  last  subject  he  treated 
twice  under  different  aspects.  First,  in  the  famous  canvas,  his  great  masterpiece,  where  we  see  a  gloomy,  silent  Napo- 
leon, with  face  contracted  by  anguish,  slowly  riding  at  the  head  of  his  discouraged  staff  across  the  snowy  plains  of 
Champagne.  This  important  work  forms  part  of  the  collection  of  Monsieur  Chauchard  of  Paris,  who  bought  it  for 
eight  hundred  thousand  francs.  The  second  picture  is  the  one  reproduced  here,  in  which  Napoleon  is  represented  at  the 
same  period,  but  only  at  the  outset  of  this  terrible  campaign— the  last  act  but  one  of  the  Napoleonic  tragedy.  The  care- 
fully studied  face  shows  as  yet  no  expression  of  discouragement,  but  rather  a  determined  hope  of  success.  Napoleon 
wears  the  traditionary  gray  overcoat  over  the  costume  of  the  Chasseurs  de  la  Garde,  and  rides  his  faithful  little  mare 
Marie,  painted  with  a  living,  nervous  effect  that  cannot  be  too  much  admired.  Meissonier,  inaccessible  to  the  poetic 
seductions  of  symbolism,  has  nevertheless  indicated  here  in  a  superb  manner  the  gloomy  future  of  the  hero,  by  sur- 
rounding his  luminous  form  with  darkness,  and  casting  on  his  brow  the  shadow  of  a  stormy,  threatening  sky.— A.  D. 


-s-s 


198 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


was  the  more  bitter  because  his  sister  her- 
self was  the  cause  of  it.  Fearful  of  losing 
her  little  glory  as  Queenof  Naples, Caroline 
watched  the  course  of  events  until  she  was 
certain  that  her  brother  was  lost,  and  then 
urged  Murat  to  conclude  a  peace  with 
England  and  Austria. 

This  accumulation  of  reverses,  coming 
upon  him  as  he  tried  to  prepare  for  battle, 
drove  Napoleon  to  approach  the  allies  with 
proposals  of  peace.  It  was  too  late.  The 
idea  had  taken  root  that  France,  with 
Napoleon  at  her  head,  would  never  remain 
in  her  natural  limits  ;  that  the  only  hope 
for  Europe  was  to  crush  him  completely. 
This  hatred  of  Napoleon  had  become  al- 
most fanatical,  and  made  any  terms  of 
peace  with  him  impossible. 


CAMPAIGN    OF    1814. 

By  the  end  of  January,  1814,  the  em- 
peror was  ready  to  renew  the  struggle. 
The  day  before  he  left  Paris,  he  led  the 
empress  and  the  King  of  Rome  to  the 
court  of  the  Tuileries,  and  presented  them 
to  the  National  Guard.  He  was  leaving 
them  what  he  held  dearest  in  the  world, 
he  told  them.  The  enemy  were  closing 
around ;  they  might  reach  Paris  ;  they 
might  even  destroy  the  city.  While  he 
fought  without  to  shield  France  from  this 
calamity,  he  prayed  them  to  protect  the 
priceless  trust  left  within.  The  nobility 
and  sincerity  of  the  feeling  that  stirred  the 
emperor  were  unquestionable  ;  tears  flowed 
down  the  cheeks  of  the  men  to  whom  he 
spoke,  and  for  a  moment  every  heart  was 
animated  by  the  old  emotion,  and  they  took 
with  eagerness  the  oath  he  asked. 

The  next  day  he  left  Paris.  The  army 
he  commanded  did  not  number  more  than 
sixty  thousand  men.  He  led  it  against  a 
force  which,  counting  only  those  who  had 
crossed  the  Rhine,  numbered  nearly  six 
hundred  thousand. 

In  the  campaign  of  two  months  which 
followed,  Napoleon  several  times  defeated 
the  allies.  In  spite  of  the  terrible  disad- 
vantages under  which  he  fought,  he  nearly 
drove  them  from  the  country.  In  every 
way  the  campaign  was  worthy  of  his  genius. 
But  the  odds  against  him  were  too  tre- 
mendous. The  saddest  phase  of  his  situa- 
tion was  that  he  was  not  seconded.  The 
people,  the  generals,  the  legislative  bodies, 
everybody  not  under  his  personal  influence 
seemed  paralyzed.  Augereau,  who  was  at 
Lyons,  did  absolutely  nothing,  and  the 
following  letter  to  him  shows  with  what 


energy  and  indignation  Napoleon  tried  to 
arouse  his  stupefied  followers. 

"  NOGENT,  2ist  February,  1814. 

"  .  .  .  What !  six  hours  after  having  received 
the  first  troops  coming  from  Spain  you  were  not  in 
the  field  !  Six  hours'  repose  was  sufficient.  I  won 
the  action  of  Nangis  with  a  brigade  of  dragoons 
coming  from  Spain,  which,  since  it  left  Bayonne,  had 
not  unbridled  its  horses.  The  six  battalions  of  the 
division  of  Nismes  want  clothes,  equipment,  and 
drilling,  say  you.  What  poor  reasons  you  give  me 
there,  Augereau  !  I  have  destroyed  eighty  thousand 
enemies  with  conscripts  having  nothing  but  knap- 
sacks !  The  National  Guards,  say  you,  are  pitiable. 
I  have  four  thousand  here,  in  round  hats,  without 
knapsacks,  in  wooden  shoes,  but  with  good  muskets, 
and  I  get  a  great  deal  out  of  them.  There  is  no 
money,  you  continue  ;  and  where  do  you  hope  to 
draw  money  from  ?  You  want  wagons  ;  take  them 
wherever  you  .can.  You  have  no  magazines  ;  this  is 
too  ridiculous.  I  order  you,  twelve  hours  after  the 
reception  of  this  letter,  to  take  the  field.  If  you  are 
still  Augereau  of  Castiglione,  keep  the  command  ; 
but  if  your  sixty  years  weigh  upon  you,  hand  over 
the  command  to  your  senior  general.  The  country 
is  in  danger,  and  can  be  saved  by  boldness  and  good 
will  alone. 

"  NAPOLEON." 

The  terror  and  apathy  of  Paris  exasper- 
ated him  beyond  measure.  To  his  great 
disgust,  the  court  and  some  of  the  coun- 
sellors had  taken  to  public  prayers  for  his 
safety.  "I  see  that  instead  of  sustaining 
the  empress,"  he  wrote  Cambace'res,  "  you 
discourage  her.  Why  do  you  lose  your 
head  like  that  ?  What  are  these  misereres 
and  these  prayers  forty  hours  long  at  the 
chapel  ?  Have  people  in  Paris  gone  mad  ?" 

The  most  serious  concern  of  Napoleon 
in  this  campaign  was  that  the  empress  and 
the  King  of  Rome  should  not  be  captured. 
He  realized  that  the  allies  might  reach 
Paris  at  any  time,  and  repeatedly  he  in- 
structed Joseph,  who  had  been  appointed 
lieutenant-general  in  his  absence,  what  to 
do  if  the  city  was  threatened. 

"  Never  allow  the  empress  or  the  King  of  Rome 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  .  .  .  As  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  I  would  rather  see  my  son  slain 
than  brought  up  at  Vienna  as  an  Austrian  prince  ; 
and  I  have  a  sufficiently  good  opinion  of  the  empress 
to  feel  persuaded  that  she  thinks  in  the  same  way,  as 
far  as  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  and  a  mother  to  do 
so.  I  never  saw  Andromaque  represented  without 
pitying  Astyanax  surviving  his  family,  and  without 
regarding  it  as  a  piece  of  good  fortune  that  he  did 
not  survive  his  father." 

Throughout  the  two  months  there  were 
negotiations  for  peace.  They  varied  ac- 
cording to  the  success  or  failure  of  the 
emperor  or  the  allies.  Napoleon  had 
reached  a  point  where  he  would  gladly  have 
accepted  the  terms  offered  at  the  close  of 
1813.  But  those  were  withdrawn.  France 


NAPOLEON    AT   FONTAINEBLEAU    THE    EVENING   AFTER   HIS  ABDICATION,   APRIL   IX,    1814. 

Fran9ois,  after  Delaroche,  1845. 


2OO 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


must  come  down  to  her  limits  in  1789. 
"What!"  cried  Napoleon,  "  leave  France 
smaller  than  I  found  her?  Never." 

The  frightful  combination  of  forces 
closed  about  him  steadily,  with  the  deadly 
precision  of  the  chamber  of  torture,  whose 
adjustable  walls  imperceptibly,  but  surely, 
draw  together,  day  by  day,  until  the  victim 
is  crushed.  On  the  3oth  of  March  Paris 
capitulated.  The  day  before,  the  Regent 
Marie  Louise  with  the  King  of  Rome  and 
her  suite  had  left  the  city  for  Blois.  The 
allied  sovereigns  entered  Paris  on  the  ist 
of  April.  As  they  passed  through  the 
streets,  they  saw  multiplying,  as  they  ad- 
vanced, the  white  cockades  which  the 
grandes  dames  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain 
had  been  making  in  anticipation  of  the 
entrance  of  the  foreigner,  and  the  only  cries 


which  greeted  them  as  they  passed  up  the 
boulevards  were,  "Long  live  the  Bourbons ! 
Long  live  the  sovereigns  !  Long  live  the  Em- 
peror Alexander" 

NAPOLEON    AT    FONTAINEBLEAU. 

The  allies  were  in  Paris,  but  Napoleon 
was  not  crushed.  Encamped  at  Fontaine- 
bleau,  his  army  about  him,  the  soldiers 
everywhere  faithful  to  him,  he  had  still  a 
large  chance  of  victory,  and  the  allies  looked 
with  uneasiness  to  see  what  move  he  would 
make.  It  was  due  largely  to  the  wit  of 
Talleyrand  that  the  standing  ground  which 
remained  to  the  emperor  was  undermined. 
That  wily  diplomat,  whose  place  it  was  to 
have  gone  with  the  empress  to  Blois,  had 
succeeded  in  getting  himself  shut  into  Paris, 


AUIEUX    DE   FONTAINEBLEAU,    APRIL    2O,    1814. 

In  this  beautiful  canvas  of  Horace  Vernet,  now  in  the  Versailles  gallery,  the  personages  depicted  are  all  faithful 
portraits  ;  and  here  lies  the  chief  merit  of  this  historic  composition.  General  Petit,  commander  of  the  Grenadiers  de 
'a  Garde,  overcome  by  emotion,  clasps  the  emperor  in  his  arms.  Behind  Napoleon  stands  the  Due  de  Bassano  ;  then 
a  compact  group  composed  of  Baron  Fain,  Generals  Belliard,  Corbineau,  Ornano,  and  Kosakowski.  To  the  right,  in 
the  corner  of  the  picture,  is  another  important  group  where  figure  the  commissioners  of  the  coalition — General  Roller 
(Austrian),  Colonel  Campbell  (English),  General  Schouwaloff  (Russian).  Colonel  Campbell,  impressed  by  the  touch- 
ing grandeur  of  the  scene,  raises  his  hat  with  a  fine  gesture  of  enthusiasm.  General  Bertrand  (who  looks  round  on 
Campbell's  movement),  General  Drouot,  and  Colonel  Gourgaud  stand  in  the  front  row  before  the  group  of  foreign- 
ers. Colonel  Gourgaud  occupies  the  foreground,  in  an  attitude  perhaps  rather  theatrical.  Horace  Vernet,  in  paint- 
ing the  picture,  was  evidently  inspired  by  the  dramatic  account  given  of  the  scene  by  Baron  Fain,  the  emperor's 
private  secretary.  The  passage  that  might  serve  as  legend  is  as  follows  :  "  .  .  .  Farewell,  my  children  !  I  would 
clasp  you  all  to  my  heart ;  let  me  at  least  kiss  your  flag  !  " 


THE  ABDICATION  OF  1814. 


2OI 


and,  on  the  entry  of  the  allies,  had  joined  gigantic  will  waver  under  the  shock  of 
Alexander,  whom  he  had  persuaded  to  defeat,  of  treachery,  and  of  abandonment, 
announce  that  the  allied  powers  would  not  Uncertain  of  the  fate  of  his  wife  and  child, 
treat  with  Napoleon  nor  with  any  member  himself  and  his  family  denounced  by  the 
of  his  family.  This  was  eliminating  the  allies,  his  army  scattered,  he  braved  every- 
most  difficult  factor  from  the  problem,  thing  until  Marmont  deserted  him,  and  he 
By  his  fine  tact  Talleyrand  brought  over  saw  One  after  another  of  his  trusted  officers 
the  legislative  bodies  to  this  view.  join  his  enemies  ;  then  for  a  moment  he 

From  the  populace  Alexander  and  Tal-  gave  up  the  fight  and  tried  to  end  his 
leyrand  feared  nothing ;  it  was  too  ex- 
hausted to  ask  anything  but  peace.  Their 
most  serious  difficulty  was  the  army.  All 
over  the  country  the  cry  of  the  common 
soldiers  was,  "  Let  us  go  to  the  emperor." 

"The   army,"    declared   Alexander,  "  is 
always  the  army  ;  as  long  as  it  is  not  with 


you,  gentlemen,  you  can  boast  of  nothing. 


life.  The  poison  he  took  had  lost  its  full 
force,  and  he  recovered  from  its  effects. 
Even  death  would  have  none  of  him,  he 
groaned. 

But  this  discouragement  was  brief.  No 
sooner  was  it  decided  that  his  future  home 
should  be  the  island  of  Elba,  and  that  its 
affairs  should  be  under  his  control,  than 


The  army  represents  the  French  nation  ;  if    he  began  to  prepare  for  the  journey  to  his 


it  is  not  won  over,  what  can  you  accomplish 
that  will  endure  ?" 

Every  influence  of  persuasion,  of  bribery, 
of  intimidation,  was  used  with  soldiers  and 
generals.  They  were  told  in 
phrases  which  could  not  but 
flatter  them  :  "  You  are  the 
most  noble  of  the  children  of 
the  country,  and  you  cannot  be- 
long to  the  man  who  has  laid 
it  waste.  .  .  .  You  are  no 
longer  the  soldiers  of  Napoleon  ; 
the  Senate  and  all  France  re- 
lease you  from  your  oaths." 

The  older  officers  on  Napo- 
leon's staff  at  Fontainebleau 
were  unsettled  by  adroit  com- 
munications sent  from  Paris. 
They  were  made  to  believe  that 
they  were  fighting  against  the 
will  of  the  nation  and  of  their 
comrades.  When  this  disaffec- 
tion had  become  serious,  one 
of  Napoleon's  oldest  and  most 
trusted  associates,  Marmont, 
suddenly  deserted.  He  led  the 
vanguard  of  the  army.  This 
treachery  took  away  the  last 
hope  of  the  imperial  cause,  and 
on  April  n,  1814,  Napoleon 
signed  the  act  of  abdication  at 
Fontainebleau.  The  act  ran  : 


little  kingdom  with  the  same  energy  and 
zest  which  had  characterized  him  as  em- 
peror. On  the  20th  of  April  he  left  the 
palace  of  Fontainebleau. 


"  The  allied  powers  having  pro- 
claimed that  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  is  the  only  obstacle  to  the 
reestablishment  of  peace  in  Europe,  the 
Emperor  Napoleon,  faithful  to  his  oath, 
declares  that  he  renounces,  for  himself 
and  his  heirs,  the  thrones  of  France 
and  Italy,  and  that  there  is  no  personal 
sacrifice,  even  that  of  his'life,  which  he 
is  not  ready  to  make  in  the  interest  of 
France." 

For  only  a   moment  did   the 


HAT  WORN    BY   NAPOLEON    DURING  THE   CAMPAIGN   OF  RUSSIA. 


During  nearly  the  whole  of  the  Russian  campaign  Napoleon  wore  a 
toque  reaching  down  over  the  ears,  made  of  Siberian  sable.  This  pro- 
tected him  better  than  his  petit  chateau  against  the  icy  wind  of  the 
steppes.  However,  he  was  often  observed  to  forsake  it  and  return  to 
the  already  legendary  headgear,  especially  on  the  occasion  of  victorious 
entries  into  captured  towns.  I  have  seen  lately  one  of  the  hats  worn 
by  Napoleon  at  this  period.  The  parchment  document  that  accompanies 
it  says :  "  This  is  the  manner  the  hat  came  into  my  hands.  At  the  time 
of  that  terrible  campaign  my  wife  was  employed  in  the  imperial 
laundry.  She  addressed  herself  by  chance  to  M.  Gervais,  keeper  of 
the  emperor's  wardrobe,  and  asked  for  some  old  hats  to  serve  as  iron- 
holders  such  as  laundresses  used  then.  He  gave  her  two  hats  that  had 
belonged  to  the  emperor  ;  this  one,  which  I  have  preserved,  had  been 
in  use  during  the  campaign.  She  gave  the  other  to  someone  who  had 
expressed  a  desire  for  it.  This  is  the  truth. 

[Signed]  "  J-  DULUD." 

This  hat,  here  reproduced  for  the  first  time,  is  the  property  of  Mon- 
sieur Georges  Thierry  of  Paris.— A.  D. 


ThE  LJEE   OF  NAPOLEON. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

KULER   OF   THE   ISLAND  OF   ELBA.— RETURN   TO   PARIS.— THE   HUNDRED   DAYS.- 

THE    SECOND    ABDICATION. 


A  WEEK  after  bidding  his  Guard  fare- 
well, Napoleon  sent  from  Frejus  his  first 
address  to  the  inhabitants  of  Elba-: 


"Circumstances  having  induced  me  to  renounce 
the  throne  of  France,  sacrificing  my  rights  to  the 
interests  of  the  country,  I  reserved  for  myself  the 
sovereignty  of  the  island  of  Elba,  which  has  met 
with  the  consent  of  all  the  powers.  I  therefore  send 
you  General  Drouot,  so  that  you  may  hand  over  to 
him  the  said  island,  with  the  military  stores  and  pro- 
visions, and  the  property  which  belongs  to  my  im- 
perial domain.  Be  good  enough  to  make  known  this 
new  state  of  affairs  to  the  inhabitants,  and  the  choice 
which  I  have  made  of  their  island  for  my  sojourn  in 
consideration  of  the  mildness  of  their  manners  and 
the  excellence  of  their  climate.  I  shall  take  the 
greatest  interest  in  their  welfare. 

"  NAPOLEON." 


The  Elbans  received  their  new  ruler 
with  all  the  pomp  which  their  means  and 
experience  permitted.  The  entire  popu- 
lation celebrated  his  arrival  as  a  fete. 
The  new  flag  which  the  emperor  had 
chosen — white  ground  with  red  bar  and 
three  yellow  bees — was  unfurled,  and  sa- 
luted by  the  forts  of  the  nation  and  by 
the  foreign  vessels  in  port.  The  keys  of 
the  chief  town  of  the  island  were  pre- 
sented to  him,  a  Te  JDeum  was  celebrated. 
If  these  honors  seemed  poor  and  con- 
temptible to  Napoleon  in  comparison 
with  the  splendor  of  the  fetes  to  which  he 
had  become  accustomed,  he  gave  no  sign, 
and  played  his  part  with  the  same  serious- 
ness as  he  had  when  he  received  his 
crown. 

His  life  at  Elba  was  immediately  ar- 
ranged methodically,  and  he  worked  as 
hard  and  seemingly  with  as  much  interest 
as  he  had  in  Paris.  The  affairs  of  his 
new  state  were  his  chief  concern,  and  he 
set  about  at  once  to  familiarize  himself 
with  all  their  details.  He  travelled  over 
the  island  in  all  directions,  to  acquaint  him- 
self with  its  resources  and  needs.  At  one 
time  he  made  the  circuit  of  his  domain,  en- 
tering every  port,  and  examining  its  con- 
dition and  fortifications.  Everywhere  that 
he  went  he  planned  and  began  works  which 
he  pushed  with  energy.  Fine  roads  were 
laid  out ;  rocks  were  levelled ;  a  palace 
and  barracks  were  begun.  From  his  ar- 
rival his  influence  was  beneficial.  There 


was  a  new  atmosphere  at  Elba,  the  island- 
ers said. 

The  budget  of  Elba  was  administered 
as  rigidly  as  that  of  France  had  been, 
and  the  little  army  was  drilled  with  as 
great  care  as  the  Guards  themselves. 
After  the  daily  review  of  his  troops,  he 
rode  on  horseback,  and  this  promenade 
became  a  species  of  reception,  the  island- 
ers who  wanted  to  consult  him  stopping 
him  on  his  route.  It  is  said  that  he 
invariably  listened  to  their  appeals. 

Elba  was  enlivened  constantly  during 
Napoleon's  residence  by  tourists  who  went 
out  of  their  way  to  see  him.  The  major- 
ity of  these  curious  persons  were  English- 
men ;  with  many  of  them  he  talked  freely, 
receiving  them  at  his  house,  and  letting 
them  carry  off  bits  of  stone  or  of  brick 
from  the  premises  as  souvenirs. 

His  stay  was  made  more  tolerable  by  the 
arrival  of  Madame  mere  and  of  the  Princess 
Pauline  and  the  coming  of  twenty-six  mem- 
bers of  the  National  Guard  who  had  crossed 
France  to  join  him.  But  his  great  desire 
that  Marie  Louise  and  the  King  of  Rome 
should  come  to  him  was  never  gratified. 
It  is  told  by  one  of  his  companions  on  the 
island,  that  he  kept  carefully  throughout 
his  stay  a  stock  of  fireworks  which  had 
fallen  into  his  possession,  planning  to  use 
them  when  his  wife  and  boy  should  arrive, 
but,  sadly  enough,  he  never  had  an  occa- 
sion-to celebrate  that  event. 

FROM    ELBA    TO    PARIS. 

While  to  all  appearances  engrossed  with 
the  little  affairs  of  Elba,  Napoleon  was,  in 
fact,  planning  the  most  dramatic  act  of 
his  life.  On  the  26th  of  February,  1815, 
the  guard  received  an  order  to  leave  the 
island.  With  a  force  of  eleven  hundred 
men,  the  emperor  passed  the  foreign  ships 
guarding  Elba,  and  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  ist  of  March  landed  at  Cannes  on  the 
Gulf  of  Juan.  At  eleven  o'clock  that  night 
he  started  towards  Paris.  He  was  trusting 
himself  to  the  people  and  the  army.  If 
there  never  was  an  example  of  such  auda- 
cious confidence,  certainly  there  never  was 
such  a  response.  The  people  of  the  South 
received  him  joyfully,  offering  to  sound  the 


204 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


tocsin  and  follow  him  en  masse.  But  Napo- 
leon refused  ;  it  was  the  soldiers  upon 
whom  he  called. 

"  We  have  not  been  conquered  [he  told  the  army]. 
Come  and  range  yourselves  under  the  standard  of 
your  chief ;  his  existence  is  composed  of  yours  ;  his 
interests,  his  honor,  and  his  glory  are  yours.  Victory 
will  march  at  double-quick  time.  The  eagle  with  the 
national  colors  will  fly  from  steeple  to  steeple  to  the 
towers  of  Notre  Dame.  Then  you  will  be  able  to 
show  your  scars  with  honor  ;  then  you  will  be  able 
to  boast  of  what  you  have  done  ;  you  will  be  the 
liberators  of  the  country.  .  .  ." 

At  Grenoble  there  was  a  show  of  resist- 
ance. Napoleon  went  directly  to  the  sol- 
diers, followed  by  his  guard. 

"  Here  I  am  ;  you  know  me.  If  there 
is  a  soldier  among  you  who  wishes  to  kill 
his  emperor,  let  him  do  it." 

"  Long  live  the  emperor  !  "  was  the  an- 
swer ;  and  in  a  twinkle  the  six  thousand 
men  had  torn  off  their  white  cockades  and 
replaced  them  by  old  and  soiled  tricolors. 
Thev  drew  them  from  the  inside  of  their 


caps,  where  they  had  been  concealing  them 
since  the  exile  of  their  hero.  "  It  is  the 
same  that  1  wore  at  Austerlitz,"  said  one 
as  he  passed  the  emperor.  "  This,"  said 
another,  "  I  had  at  Marengo." 

From  Grenoble  the  emperor  marched  to 
Lyons,  where  the  soldiers  and  officers  went 
over  to  him  in  regiments.  The  royalist 
leaders  who  had  deigned  to  go  to  Lyons  to 
exhort  the  army  found  themselves  ignored; 
and  Ney,  who  had  been  ordered  from  Be- 
saii9on  to  stop  the  emperor's  advance,  and 
who  started  out  promising  to  "  bring  back 
Napoleon  in  an  iron  cage,"  surrendered 
his  entire  division.  It  was  impossible  to 
resist  the  force  of  popular  opinion,  he  said. 

From  Lyons  the  emperor,  at  the  head  of 
what  was  now  the  French  army,  passed  by 
Dijon,  Autun,  Avallon,  and  Auxerre,  to 
Fontainebleau,  which  he  reached  on  March 
1 9th.  The  same  day  Louis  XVIII.  fled 
from  Paris. 

The  change  of  sentiment  in  these  few 
days  was  well  illustrated  in  a  French  paper 


NAPOLEON'S  RETURN  FROM  THE  ISLAND  OF  ELBA,  MARCH,  1815. 

Engraved  by  George  Sanders,  after  Steuben.  Soon  after  landing  in  France,  Napoleon  met  a  battalion  sent 
from  Grenoble  to  arrest  his  march.  He  approached  within  a  few  paces  of  the  troop,  and  throwing  up  his  surtout, 
exclaimed  :  "  If  there  be  amongst  you  a  soldier  who  would  kill  his  general,  his  emperor,  let  him  do  it  now !  Here 
lam!"  The  cry  "Vive  1'Empereur!"  burst  from  every  lip.  Napoleon  threw  himself  among  them,  and  taking  a 
veteran  private,  covered  with  chevrons  and  medals,  by  the  whiskers,  said,  "  Speak  honestly,  old  moustache ;  couldst 
thou  have  had  the  heart  to  kill  thy  emperor?"  The  man  dropped  his  ramrod  into  his  piece  to  show  that  it  was 
uncharged,  and  answered,  "Judge  if  I  could  have  done  thee  much  harm  :  all  the  rest  are  the  same."  One  of  the 
soldiers  is  showing  the  emperor  the  eagle  he  had  preserved  in  his  knapsack. 


s-  >» 


•5  E 


c    6 
rt    c 

.->     V 


o  s 


Gebhard  Leberecht  von  Blucher,  Prince  of  Wahlstadt,  was  born  in  1742,  and  died  in  1819. 
He  distinguished  himself  as  a  cavalry  officer  in  the  wars  against  the  French,  and  was  made 
major-general.  In  1813  he  was  appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the  Prussian  army,  and 
defeated  Marshal  Macdonald,  and,  later,  Marshal  Marmont.  He  was  made  field  marshal  in 
1813,  and  he  led  the  Prussian  army  which,  sixty  thousand  strong,  invaded  France  in  1814.  On 
the  renewal  of  the  war  in  1815  he  commanded  the  Prussian  army,  was  defeated  at  Ligny, 
June  i6th,  but  reached  Waterloo  in  time  to  decide  the  victory. 


which,  after  Napoleon's  return,  published 
the  following  calendar  gathered  from  the 
royalist  press. 

February  25. — "  The  exterminator  has 
signed  a  treaty  offensive  and  defensive.  It 
is  not  known  with  whom." 

February  26. — "  The  Corsican  has  left  the 
island  of  Elba." 

March  i. — "Bonaparte  has  debarked  at 
Cannes  with  eleven  hundred  men." 

March  7. — "  General  Bonaparte  has  taken 
possession  of  Grenoble." 

March  10. — "  Napoleon  has  entered  Ly- 
ons." 

March  19. — "  The  emperor  reached  Fon- 
tainebleau  to-day." 


March  19. — "  His  Imperial  Majesty  is  ex- 
pected at  the  Tuileries  to-morrow,  the 
anniversary  of  the  birth  of  the  King  of 
Rome." 

Two  days  before  the  flight  of  the  Bour- 
bons, the  following  notice  appeared  on  the 
door  of  the  Tuileries  : 

"  The  emperor  begs  the  king  to  send  him  no 
more  soldiers  ;  he  has  enough. 

"  What  was  the  happiest  period  of  your 
life  as  emperor  ?  "  O'Meara  asked  Napoleon 
once  at  St.  Helena. 

"  The  march  from  Cannes  to  Paris,"  he 
replied  immediately. 

His     happiness   was    short-lived.      The 


THE   DUKE   OF   WELLINGTON. 

Engraved  by  Former  in  1818,  after  Gerard,  1814. 


overpowering  enthusiasm  which  had  made 
that  march  possible  could  not  endure. 
The  bewildered  factions  which  had  been 
silenced  or  driven  out  by  Napoleon's  reap- 
pearance recovered  from  their  stupor.  The 
royalists,  exasperated  by  their  own  flight, 
reorganized.  Strong  opposition  developed 
among  the  liberals.  It  was  only  a  short  time 
before  a  reaction  followed  the  delirium 
which  Napoleon's  return  had  caused  in  the 
nation.  Disaffection,  coldness,  and  plots 
succeeded.  In  face  of  this  revulsion  of 


feeling,  the  emperor  himself  underwent  a 
change.  The  buoyant  courage,  the  amazing 
audacity  which  had  induced  him  to  return 
from  Elba,  seemed  to  leave  him.  He  became 
sad  and  preoccupied.  No  doubt  much  of 
this  sadness  was  due  to  the  refusal  of  Austria 
to  restore  his  wife  and  child,  and  to  the 
bitter  knowledge  that  Marie  Louise  had 
succumbed  to  foreign  influences  and  had 
promised  never  again  to  see  her  husband. 

If  the  allies  had  allowed  the  French  to 
manage  their  affairs  in  their  own  way,  it  is 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  CZAK  ALEXANDER  1. 


This  portrait  is  from  a  sketch  from  life  made  by  Carle  Vernet  in  1815,  at  Paris.  After 
an  unpublished  water  color  forming  part  of  the  collection  of  Monsieur  Albert  Christophle,  ex- 
Minister  of  Public  Works,  governor  of  the  Credit-fonder  of  France. 


probable  that  Napoleon  would  have  mas- 
tered the  situation,  difficult  as  it  was.  But 
this  they  did  not  do.  In  spite  of  his 
promise  to  observe  the  treaties  made  after 
his  abdication,  to  accept  the  boundaries 
fixed,  to  abide  by  the  Congress  of  Vienna, 
the  coalition  treated  him  with  scorn,  affect- 
ing to  mistrust  him.  He  was  the  disturber 
of  the  peace  of  the  world,  a  public  enemy; 
he  must  be  put  beyond  the  pale  of  society, 
and  they  took  up  arms,  not  against  France, 
but  against  Napoleon.  France,  as  it  ap- 
peared, was  not  to  be  allowed  to  choose 
her  own  rulers. 

The  position  in  which  Napoleon  found 
himself  on  the  declaration  of  war  was  of 
exceeding  difficulty,  but  he  mastered  the 
opposition  with  all  his  old  genius  and  re- 


sources. Three  months  after  the  landing 
at  Cannes  he  had  an  army  of  two  hundred 
thousand  men  ready  to  march.  He  led  it 
against  at  least  five  hundred  thousand 
men. 

On  June  i5th,  Napoleon's  army  met  a 
portion  of  the  enemy  in  Belgium,  near 
Brussels,  and  on  June  :6th,  iyth,  and  i8th 
were  fought  the  battles  of  Ligny,  Quatre 
Bras,  and  Waterloo,  in  the  last  of  which  he 
was  completely  defeated.  The  limits  and 
nature  of  this  sketch  do  not  permit  a  de- 
scription of  the  engagement  at  Waterloo. 
The  literature  on  the  subject  is  perhaps 
richer  than  that  on  any  other  subject  in 
military  science.  Thousands  of  books  dis- 
cuss the  battle,  and  each  succeeding  gen- 
eration takes  it  up  as  if  nothing  had  been 


210 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


written  on  it.     But  while  Waterloo  cannot    claiming  his  son  emperor  under  the  title 

be  discussed  here,  it  is  not  out  of  place  to    of  Napoleon  II. 

notice  that  among  the  reasons  for  its  loss 

are  certain  ones  which  interest  us  because 

they  are  personal  to  Napoleon.     He  whose 

great  rule  in  war  was,  "Time  is  everything," 


EFFORTS    TO    REACH    THE    UNITED    STATES. 


Leaving  Paris,  the  fallen  emperor  went 

lost  time  at  Waterloo.  He  who  had  looked  to  Malmaison,  where  Josephine  had  died 
after  everything  which  he  wanted  well  done,  only  thirteen  months  before.  A  few  friends 
neglected  to  assure  himself  of  such  an  im-  joined  him — Queen  Hortense,  the  Due  de 
portant  matter  as  the 
exact  position  of  a  por- 
tion of  his  enemy.  He 
who  once  had  been  able 
to  go  a  week  without 
sleep,  was  ill.  Again,  if 
one  will  compare  care- 
fully the  Bonaparte  of 
Gue"rin  (page  55)  with 
the  Napoleon  of  David 
(page  167),  he  will  un- 
derstand, at  least  partial- 
ly, why  the  battle  of 
Waterloo  was  lost. 

The  defeat  was  com- 
plete ;  and  when  the  em- 
peror saw  it,  he  threw 
himself  into  the  battle  in 
search  of  death.  As 
eagerly  as  he  had  sought 
victory  at  Arcola,  Maren- 
go,  Austerlitz,  he  sought 
death  at  Waterloo.  "  I 
ought  tc  have  died  at 
Waterloo,''  he  said  after- 
wards ;  "  but  the  misfor- 
tune is  that  when  a  man 
seeks  death  most  he  can- 
not find  it.  Men  were 
killed  around  me,  before, 
behind  —  everywhere. 
But  there  was  no  bullet 
for  me." 

He  returned  immediate- 
ly to  Paris.  There  was 
still  force  for  resistance 
in  France.  There  were 
many  to  urge  him  to  re- 
turn to  the  struggle,  but 
such  was  the  condition  of 
public  sentiment  that  he 
refused.  The  country 
was  divided  in  its  allegi- 


UEHiKE    WATERLOO. 


After  a  lithograph  by  Charlet. 


ance  to  him ;  the  legislative  body  was 
frightened  and  quarrelling ;  Talleyrand 
and  Fouche  were  plotting.  Besides,  the 
allies  proclaimed  to  the  nation  that  it 
was  against  Napoleon  alone  that  they 
waged  war.  Under  these  circumstances 
Napoleon  felt  that  loyalty  to  the  best 
interest  of  France  required  his  abdica- 
tion ;  and  he  signed  the  act  anew,  pro- 


Rovigo,  Bertrand,  Las  Cases,  and  Me"ne- 
val.  He  remained  there  only  a  few  days. 
The  allies  were  approaching  Paris,  and  the 
environs  were  in  danger.  Napoleon  offered 
his  services  to  the  provisional  government, 
which  had  taken  his  place,  as  leader  in  the 
campaign  against  the  invader,  promising 
to  retire  as  soon  as  the  enemy  was  repulsed, 
but  he  was  refused.  The  government  feared 


PLANS  FOR   REACHING   AMERICA. 


211 


him,  in  fact,  more  than  it  did  the  allies, 
and  urged  him  to  leave  France  as  quickly 
as  possible.  In  his  disaster  he  turned  to 
America  as  a  refuge,  and  gave  his  family 
rendezvous  there. 

Various  plans  were  suggested  for  getting 
to  the  United  States.  Among  the  offers 
of  aid  to  carry  out  his  desire  which  were 
made  to  Napoleon,  Las  Cases  speaks  of  one 
coming  from  an  American  in  Paris,  who 
wrote  : 

"  While  you  were  at  the  head  of  a  nation  you  could 
perform  any  miracle,  you  might  conceive  any  hopes  ; 
but  now  you  can  do  nothing  more  in  Europe.  Fly  to 
the  United  States  !  I  know  the  hearts  of  the  leading 
men  and  the  sentiments  of  the  people  of  America. 
You  will  there  find  a  second  country  and  every  source 
of  consolation." 

Mr.  S.  V.  S.  Wilder,  an  American  shipping 
merchant  who  lived  in  France  during  the 
time  of  Napoleon's  power,  and  who  had 
been  much  impressed  by  the  changes 
brought  about  in  society  and  politics  under 
his  rule,  offered  to  help  him  to  escape.  He 
proposed  that  the  emperor  disguise  himself 
as  a  valet  for  whom  he  had  a  passport.  On 
board  the  ship  the  emperor  was  to  conceal 
himself  in  a  hogshead  until  the  danger-line 
was  crossed.  This  hogshead  was  to  have 
a  false  compartment  in  it.  From  the  end 
in  view,  water  was  to  drip  incessantly.  Mr. 
Wilder  proposed  to  take  Napoleon  to  his 
own  home  in  Bolton,  Massachusetts,  when 
they  arrived  in  America.  It  is  said  that  the 


emperor  seriously  considered  this  scheme, 
but  finally  declined,  because  he  would  leave 
his  friends  behind  him,  and  for  them  Mr. 
Wilder  could  not  possibly  provide.  Napo- 
leon explained  one  day  to  Las  Cases  at  St. 
Helena  what  he  intended  to  do  if  he  had 
reached  America.  He  would  have  collected 
all  his  relatives  around  him,  and  thus 
would  have  formed  the  nucleus  of  a  na- 
tional union,  a  second  France.  Such  were 
the  sums  of  money  he  had  given  them  that 
he  thought  they  might  have  realized  at 
least  forty  millions  of  francs.  Before  the 
conclusion  of  a  year,  the  events  of  Europe 
would  have  drawn  to  him  a  hundred  mil- 
lions of  francs  and  sixty  thousand  individ- 
uals, most  of  them  possessing  wealth,  talent, 
and  information. 

"America  [he  said]  was,  in  all  respects,  our 
proper  asylum.  It  is  an  immense  continent,  possess- 
ing the  advantage  of  a  peculiar  system  of  freedom. 
If  a  man  is  troubled  with  melancholy,  he  may  get  into 
a  coach  and  drive  a  thousand  leagues,  enjoying  all  the 
way  the  pleasures  of  a  common  traveller.  In  America 
you  may  be  on  a  footing  of  equality  with  everyone  ; 
you  may,  if  you  please,  mingle  with  the  crowd  with- 
out inconvenience,  retaining  your  own  manners,  your 
own  language,  your  own  religion." 

On  June  29th,  a  week  after,  his  return  to 
Paris  from  Waterloo,  Napoleon  left  Mal- 
maison  for  Rochefort,  hoping  to  reach  a 
vessel  which  would  carry  him  to  the  United 
States  ;  but  the  coast  was  so  guarded  by 
the  English  that  there  was  no  escape. 


MALMAISON. 

(See  note  on  page  40.) 


THE  LIFE   OF  NAPOLEON 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


NAPOLEON'S    SURRENDER    TO    ENGLAND.— SENT     TO    ST.     HELENA.— LIFE    IN 
EXILE.— DEATH    OF    NAPOLEON. 


ENGLAND  S    DECISION. 

WHEN  it  became  evident  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  escape  to  the  United  States, 
Napoleon  considered  two  courses — to  call 
upon  the  country  and  renew  the  conflict, 
or  seek  an  asylum  in  England.  The  for- 
mer was  not  only  to  perpetuate  the  foreign 
war,  it  was  to  plunge  France  into  civil  war  ; 
for  a  large  part  of  the  country  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  of  the  enemy — that  as 
long  as  Napoleon  was  at  large,  peace  was 
impossible.  Rather  than  involve  France 
in  such  a  disaster,  the  emperor  resolved  at 
last  to  give  himself  up  to  the  English,  and 
sent  the  following  note  to  the  regent : 

"  ROYAL  HIGHNESS:  Exposed  to  the  factions 
•which  divide  my  country  and  to  the  hostility  of  the 
greatest  powers  of  Europe,  I  have  closed  my  political 
career.  I  have  come,  like  Themistocles,  to  seek  the 
hospitality  of  the  British  nation.  I  place  myself  un- 
der the  protection  of  their  laws,  which  I  claim  from 
your  Royal  Highness  as  the  most  powerful,  the  most 
constant,  and  the  most  generous  of  my  enemies. 

"  NAPOLEON." 


On  the  i5th  of  July  he  embarked  on  the 
English  ship,  the  "  Bellerophon,"  and  a. 
week  later  he  was  in  Plymouth. 

Napoleon's  surrender  to  the  English 
was  made,  as  he  says,  with  full  confi- 
dence in  their  hospitality.  Certainly  hos- 
pitality was  the  last  thing  to  expect  of 
England  under  the  circumstances,  and 
there  was  something  theatrical  in  the  de- 
mand for  it.  The  "  Bellerophon  "  was  no- 
sooner  in  the  harbor  of  Plymouth  than 
it  became  evident  that  he  was  regarded1 
not  as  a  guest,  but  as  a  prisoner.  Armed 
vessels  surrounded  the  ship  he  was  on  ; 
extraordinary  messages  were  hurried  to- 
and  fro  ;  sinister  rumors  ran  among  the 
crew.  The  Tower  of  London,  a  desert 
isle,  the  ends  of  the  earth,  were  talked 
of  as  the  hospitality  England  was  pre- 
paring. 

But  if  there  was  something  theatrical, 
even  humorous,  in  the  idea  of  expecting  a 
friendly  welcome  from  England,  there  was 
every  reason  to  suppose  that  she  would 


NAPOLEON    EMBARKING   ON    THE    "BELLEROPHON/ 

Designed  and  engraved  by  Baugeau. 


NAPOLEON   AT    PLYMOUTH. 


In  1815,  while  Eastlake  was  employed  painting  portraits  in  his  native  town  (Plymouth),  Napoleon  arrived  thereon 
board  the  "  Bellerophon,"  and  the  young  artist  took  advantage  of  every  glimpse  he  could  obtain  of  the  ex-emperor 
to  make  studies  of  him,  by  the  aid  of  which  he  made  a  life-size  picture  of  Napoleon  standing  in  the  gangway  of  the 
ship,  attended  by  his  officers. 


receive  him  with  dignity  and  considera- 
tion. Napoleon  had  been  an  enemy  worthy 
of  English  metal.  He  had  been  defeated 
only  after  years  of  struggle.  Now  that 
he  was  at  her  feet,  her  own  self-respect 
•demanded  that  she  treat  him  as  became 


his  genius  and  his  position.  To  leave  him 
at  large  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  but  surely  he  could  have  been  made 
a  royal  prisoner  and  been  made  to  feel 
that  if  he  was  detained  it  was  because  of 
his  might. 


HOUSE    INHABITED    BY   NAPOLEON    AT   ST.    HELENA    BEFORE    HE   OCCUPIED    "  LONGWOOD 

From  a  recent  photograph. 


The  British  government  no  sooner  real- 
ized that  it  had  its  hands  on  Napoleon 
than  it  was  seized  with  a  species  of  panic. 
All  sense  of  dignity,  all  notions  of  what 
was  due  a  foe  who  had  surrendered,  were 
drowned  in  hysterical  resentment.  The 


English  people  as  a  whole  did  not  share 
the  government's  terror.  The  general  feel- 
ing seems  to  have  been  similar  to  that 
which  Charles  Lamb  expressed  to  Southey  : 
"  After  all,  Bonaparte  is  a  fine  fellow,  'as 
my  barber  says,  and  I  should  not  mind 


LONGWOOD,  NAPOLEON'S  HOUSE  AT  ST.  HELENA. 
Etching  by  Chienon. 


2l6 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


standing  bare-head- 
ed at  his  table  to  do 
him  service  in  his 
fall.  They  should 
have  given  him 
Hampton  Court  or 
Kensington,  with  a 
tether  extending 
forty  miles  round 
London." 

But  the  govern- 
ment could  see 
nothing  but  danger 
in  keeping  such  a 
force  as  Napoleon 
within  its  limits.  It 
evidently  took 
Lamb's  whimsical 
suggestion,  that  if 
Napoleon  were  at 
Hampton  the  people 
might  some  day 
eject  the  Brunswick 
in  his  favor,  in  pro- 
found seriousness. 
On  July  30th  it 
sent  a  communica- 
tion to  General  Bonaparte — the  English 
henceforth  refused  him  the  title  of  em- 
peror, though  permitting  him  that  of  gen- 
eral, not  reflecting,  probably,  that  if  one  was 
spurious  the  other  was,  since  both  had  been 
conferred  by  the  same  authority — notify- 
ing him  that  as  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  not  be  allowed  to  disturb  the  re- 
pose of  England  any  longer,  the  British 
government  had  chosen  the  island  of  St. 
Helena  as  his  future  residence,  and  that 


CHAIR    USED    BY  NAPOLEON   AT  ST.  HELENA 


three  persons  with  a 
surgeon  would  be 
allowed  to  accom- 
pany him.  A  week 
later  he  was  trans- 
fer red  from  the 
"  Bellerophon  "  to 
the  "  Northumber- 
land," and  was  en 
route  tor  St.  Helena, 
where  he  arrived  in 
October,  1815. 

The  manner  in 
which  the  British 
carried  out  their  de- 
cision was  irritating 
and  unworthy. 
They  seemed  to  feel 
that  guarding  a 
prisoner  meant  hu- 
miliating him,  and 
offensive  and  un- 
necessary restric- 
tions were  made 
which  wounded  and 
enraged  Napo- 
leon. 

The  effect  of  this  treatment  on  his  char- 
acter is  one  of  the  most  interesting  studies 
in  connection  with  the  man,  and,  on  the 
whole,  it  leaves  one  with  increased  re- 
spect and  admiration  for  him.  He  received 
the  announcement  of  his  exile  in  indigna- 
tion. He  was  not  a  prisoner,  he  was  the 
guest  of  England,  he  said.  It  was  an  out- 
rage against  the  laws  of  hospitality  to 
send  him  into  exile,  and  he  would  never 
submit  voluntarily.  When  he  became  con- 


LONGWOOD. 

From  a  recent  photograph. 


OCCUPATION  AT  ST.  HELENA. 


217 


vinced  that  the 
British  were  in- 
flexible in  their 
decision,  he 
thought  of  sui- 
cide, and  even 
discussed  it  with 
Las  Cases.  It 
was  the  most 
convenient  solu- 
tion of  his  dilem- 
ma. It  would 
injure  no  one, 
and  his  friends 
would  not  be 
forced  then  to 
leave  their  fami- 
lies. It  was  the 
easier  because  he 
had  no  scruples 
which  opposed 
it.  The  idea  was 
finally  given  up. 
A  man  ought  to 


' 


STRAW  HAT  '.YORK  BY  NAPOLEON  AT  ST.  HELENA. 

From  the  collection  of  Prince  Victor  Napoleon. 


live  out  his  des- 
tiny, he  said,  and 
he  decided  that 
his  should  be  ful- 
filled. 

The  most  seri- 
ous concern  Na- 
poleon felt  in 
facing  his  new 
life  was  that  he 
would  have  no 
occupation.  He 
saw  at  once  that 
St.  Helena  would 
not  be  an  Elba. 
But  he  resolutely 
made  occupa- 
tions. He.sought 
conversation, 
studied  English, 
played  games,  be- 
gan to  dictate 
his  memoirs.  It 
is  to  this  admir- 


THE    EIGHT    El'OCHb    OF   THE   LIFE   OF   NAPOLEON. 


This  original  series  of  hats  presented  in  different  significant  positions  is  from  the  pencil  of  Steuben,  one  of  the 
most  fertile  painters  of  the  First  Empire,  and  symbolizes  the  eight  principal  epochs  in  Napoleon's  career. 


1.  Vendemiaire. 

2.  Consulate. 

3.  Empire. 


4.  Austerlitz. 

5.  Wagram. 

6.  Moscow. 


7.  Waterloo. 

8.  St.  Helena. 


NAPOLEON    AT   ST.    HELENA. 


Dictating  to  young  Las  Cases  the  notes  which  were  used  in  compiling  the  "  Memorial.' 
After  a  steel  engraving  in  the  collection  of  the  Cabinet  des  Estampes  at  Paris. 


able  determination  to  find  something  to 
do,  that  we  owe  his  clear,  logical  commen- 
taries, his  essays  on  Caesar,  Turenne,  and 
Frederick,  his  sketch  of  the  Republic,  and 
the  vast  amount  of  information  in  the 
journals  of  his  devoted  comrades,  O'Meara, 
Las  Cases,  Montholon. 

But  no  amount  of  forced  occupation 
could  hide  the  desolation  of  his  position. 
The  island  of  St.  Helena  is  a  mass  of 
jagged,  gloomy  rocks  ;  the  nearest  land  is 
six  hundred  miles  away.  Isolated  and  in- 
accessible as  it  is,  the  English  placed 
Napoleon  on  its  most  sombre  and  remote 
part — a  place  called  Longwood,  at  the 


summit  of  a  mountain,  and  to  the  wind- 
ward. The  houses  at  Longwood  were 
damp  and  unhealthy.  There  was  no  shade. 
Water  had  to  be  carried  some  three  miles. 
The  governor,  Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  was  a 
tactless  man,  with  a  propensity  for  bully- 
ing those  whom  he  ruled.  He  was  haunted 
by  the  idea  that  Napoleon  was  trying  to 
escape,  and  he  adopted  a  policy  which  was 
more  like  that  of  a  jailer  than  of  an  officer. 
In  his  first  interview  with  the  emperor  he 
so  antagonized  him  that  Napoleon  soon 
refused  to  see  him.  Napoleon's  antipathy 
was  almost  superstitious.  "  I  never  saw 
such  a  horrid  countenance."  he  told 


LIFE  AT  ST.   HELENA. 


219 


O'Meara.  "  He  sat  on  a  chair  opposite  to 
my  sofa,  and  on  the  little  table  between  us 
there  was  a  cup  of  coffee.  His  physiog- 
nomy made  such  an  unfavorable  impression 
upon  me  that  I  thought  his  evil  eye  had 
poisoned  the  coffee,  and  I  ordered  Mar- 
chand  to  throw  it  out  of  the  window.  I 
could  not  have  swallowed  it  for  the  world." 
Aggravated  by  Napoleon's  refusal  to  see 
him,  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  became  more  an- 
noying and  petty  in  his  regulations.  All 
free  communication  between  Longwood 
and  the  inhabitants  of  the  island  was  cut 
off.  The  newspapers  sent  Napoleon  were 
mutilated  ;  certain  books  were  refused  ; 
his  letters  were  opened.  A  bust  of  his  son 
brought  to  the  island  by  a  sailor  was  with- 
held for  weeks.  There  was  incessant  hag- 
gling over  the  expenses  of  his  establish- 
ment. His  friends  were  subjected  to 
constant  annoyance.  All  news  of  Marie 
Louise  and  of  his  son  was  kept  from  him. 


It  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at  that 
Napoleon  was  often  peevish  and  obstinate 
under  this  treatment,  or  that  frequently, 
when  he  allowed  himself  to  discuss  the 
governor's  policy  with  the  members  of  his 
suite,  his  temper  rose,  as  Montholon  said, 
"  to  thirty-six  degrees  of  fury."  His  situ- 
ation was  made  more  miserable  by  his  ill- 
health.  His  promenades  were  so  guarded 
by  sentinels  and  restricted  to  such  limits 
that  he  finally  refused  to  take  exercise, 
and  after  that  his  disease  made  rapid 
marches. 

His  fretfulness,  his  unreasonable  deter- 
mination to  house  himself,  his  childish  re- 
sentment at  Sir  Hudson  Lowe's  conduct, 
have  led  to  the  idea  that  Napoleon  spent 
his  time  at  St.  Helena  in  fuming  and  com- 
plaining. But  if  one  will  take  into  consid- 
eration the  work  that  the  fallen  emperor 
did  in  his  exile,  he  will  have  a  quite  different 
impression  of  this  period  of  his  life.  He 


SKETCHES  OF  NAPOLEON  AT  VARIOUS  EPOCHS. 

By  Charlet. 


NAPOLEON    AT  ST.    HELENA. 

By  Delaroche. 


lived  at  St.  Helena,  from  October,  1815,  to 
May,  1821.  In  this  period  of  five  and  a 
half  years  he  wrote  or  dictated  enough 
matter  to  fill  the  four  good-sized  volumes 
which  complete  the  bulky  correspondence 
published  by  the  order  of  Napoleon  III., 
and  he  furnished  the  great  collection  of 
conversations  embodied  in  the  memorials 
published  by  his  companions. 

This  means  a  great  amount  of  thinking 
and  planning ;  for  if  one  will  go  over  these 
dictations  and  writings  to  see  how  they 
were  made,  he  will  see  that  they  are  not 
slovenly  in  arrangement  or  loose  in  style. 
On  the  contrary,  they  are  concise,  logical, 
and  frequently  vivid.  They  are  full  of 
errors,  it  is  true,  but  that  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  Napoleon  had  not  at  hand  any  official 


documents  for  making  history.  He  de- 
pended almost  entirely  on  his  memory. 
The  books  and  maps  he  had,  he  used  dili- 
gently, but  his  supply  was  limited  and  un- 
satisfactory. 

It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that  this 
work  was  done  under  great  physical  diffi- 
culties. He  was  suffering  keenly  much  of 
the  time  after  he  reached  the  island.  Even 
for  a  well  man,  working  under  favorable  cir- 
cumstances, the  literary  output  of  Napoleon 
at  St.  Helena  would  be  creditable.  For  one 
in  his  circumstances  it  was  extraordinary. 
A  look  at  it  is  the  best  possible  refutation 
of  the  common  notion  that  he  spent  his 
time  at  St.  Helena  fuming  at  Sir  Hudson 
Lowe  and  "stewing  himself  in  hot  water," 
to  use  the  expression  of  the  governor. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  DEATH. 


DEATH    IN    MAY,    1821. 

Before  the  end  of  1820  it  was  certain 
that  he  could  not  live  long.  In  December 
of  that  year  the  death  of  his  sister  Eliza 
was  announced  to  him.  "You  see,  Eliza 
has  just  shown  me  the  way.  Death,  which 
had  forgotten  my  family,  has  begun  to 
strike  it.  My  turn  cannot  be  far  off." 
Nor  was  it.  On  May  5,  1821.  he  died. 


His  preparations  for  death  were  methodi- 
cal and  complete.  During  the  last  fort- 
night of  April  all  his  strength  was  spent  in 
dictating  to  Montholon  his  last  wishes. 
He  even  dictated,  ten  days  before  the  end, 
the  note  which  he  wished  sent  to  Sir  Hud- 
son Lowe  to  announce  his  death.  The 
articles  he  had  in  his  possession  at  Long- 
wood  he  had  wrapped  up  and  ticketed 
with  the  names  of  the  persons  to  whom  he 
wished  to  leave  them.  His  will  remem- 


NAPOLEON'S  LAST  DAY. 

From  a  sculpture  by  Vela.  This  superb  statue  was  exhibited  in  Paris  at  the  Exhibition  Univer- 
selle  of  1867  (Italian  section),  and  obtained  the  gold  medal.  It  was  purchased  by  the  French  Govern- 
ment, and  is  now  at  Versailles. 


NAPOLEON   AS    HE    LAY   IN   DEATH.      ("NAPOLEON    UT  IN   MORTE   RECt'MBIT.") 

Dedicated,  "with  permission,  to  the  Countess  Bertrand,  by  her  obliged  and  most  obedient  servant,  William 
Rubidge.  Taken  at  St.  Helena  in  presence  of  Countess  Bertrand,  Count  Montholon,  etc."  Engraved  by  H.  Meyer, 
London,  after  W.  Rubidge,  and  published  August,  18-21. 


bered  numbers  of  those  whom  he  had  loved 
or  who  had  served  him.  Even  the  Chinese 
laborers  then  employed  about  the  place 
were  remembered.  "  Do  not  let  them  be 
forgotten.  Let  them  have  a  few  score  of 
napoleons." 


The  will  included  a  final  word  on  certain 
questions  on  which  he  felt  posterity  ought 
distinctly  to  understand  his  position.  He 
died,  he  said,  in  the  apostolical  Roman  re- 
ligion.  Hedeclared  that  he  had  always  been 
pleased  with  Marie  Louise,  whom  he  be- 


NAl-OLEON    LYING    DEAU. 


"  From  the  original  drawing  of  Captain  Crockatt,  taken  the  morning  after  Napoleon's  decease."    Published 
July  18,  1821,  in  London. 


WAX   CAST   OF  THE    FACE   OF   NAPOLEON,  MADE   AT   ST.    HELENA   IN    1821,    BY   DR.   ARNOTT. 


sought  to  watch  over  his  son.  To  this  son, 
whose  name  recurs  repeatedly  in  the  will, 
he  gave  a  motto — All  for  the  French  peo- 
ple. He  died  prematurely,  he  said,  assassi- 
nated by  the  English  oligarchy.  The  unfor- 
tunate results  of  the  invasion  of  France  he 
attributed  to  the  treason  of  Marmont, 
Augereau,  Talleyrand,  and  Lafayette.  He 
defended  the  death  of  the  Due  d'Enghien. 
"  Under  similar  circumstance  I  should  act 
in  the  same  way."  This  will  is  sufficient 
evidence  that  he  died  as  he  had  lived, 
courageously  and  proudly,  and  inspired 
by  a  profound  conviction  of  the  justice  of 
his  own  cause.  In  1822  the  French  courts 
declared  the  will  void. 

They  buried  him  in  a  valley  beside  a 
spring  he  loved,  and  though  no  monument 
but  a  willow  marked  the  spot,  perhaps  no 
other  grave  in  history  is  so  well  known. 
Certainly  the  magnificent  mausoleum  which 
marks  his  present  resting  place  in  Paris 
has  never  touched  the  imagination  and  the 
heart  as  did  the  humble  willow-shaded 
mound  in  St.  Helena. 


NAPOLEON  S   CHARACTER. 

The  peace  of  the  world  was  insured. 
Napoleon  was  dead.  But  though  he  was 
dead,  the  echo  of  his  deeds  was  so  loud 
in  the  ears  of  France  and  England  that 
they  tried  every  device  to  turn  it  into  dis- 
cord or  to  drown  it  by  another  and  a  newer 
sound.  The  ignoble  attempt  was  never 
entirely  successful,  and  the  day  will  come 
when  personal  and  partisan  considerations 
will  cease  to  influence  judgments  on  this 
mighty  man.  For  he  was  a  mighty  man. 
One  may  be  convinced  that  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  his  life  were  despotic  ; 
that  he  used  the  noble  ideas  of  personal 
liberty,  of  equality,  and  of  fraternity,  as 
a  tyrant  ;  that  the  whole  tendency  of  his 
civil  and  military  system  was  to  concen- 
trate power  in  a  single  pair  of  hands,  never 
to  distribute  it  where  it  belonged,  among  the 
people  ;  one  may  feel  that  he  frequently 
sacrificed  personal  dignity  to  a  theatrical 
desire  to  impose  on  the  crowd  as  a  hero  of 
classic  proportions,  a  god  from  Olympus  ; 


DEATH    MASK   OF   NAPOLEON,    MADE    BY   DR.    ANTOMMARCHI    AT   ST.    HELENA,    1821. 

Calatnatta,  1834.    Calamatta  produced  the  mask  from  the  cast  taken  by  Dr.  Antommarchi,  the  physician  of 
x>leon  at  St.  Helena,  in  1834,  grouping  around  it  portraits  (chiefly  from  Ingres's  drawings)  of  Madame 


Napoleon 

Dudevant  and  others. 

one  may  groan  over  the  blood  he  spilt. 
But  he  cannot  refuse  to  acknowledge  that 
no  man  ever  comprehended  more  clearly 
the  splendid  science  of  war  ;  he  cannot  fail 
to  bow  to  the  genius  which  conceived  and 
executed  the  Italian  campaign,  which  fought 
the  classic  battles  of  Austerlitz,  Jena,  and 


Wagram.  These  deeds  are  great  epics. 
They  move  in  noble,  measured  lines,  and 
stir  us  by  their  might  and  perfection.  It  is 
only  a  genius  of  the  most  magnificent  order 
which  could  handle  men  and  materials  as 
Napoleon  did. 

He  is  even  more  imposing  as  a  states- 


NAPOLEON'S  SWAY. 


man.  When  one  confronts  the 
France  of  1 799,  corrupt,  crushed, 
hopeless,  false  to  the  great 
ideas  she  had  wasted  herself 
for,  and  watches  Napoleon 
firmly  and  steadily  bring  order 
into  this  chaos,  give  the  country 
work  and  bread,  build  up  her 
broken  walls  and  homes,  put 
money  into  her  pocket  and  re- 
store her  credit,  bind  up  her 
wounds  and  call  back  her  scat- 
tered children,  set  her  again  to 
painting  pictures  and  reading 
books,  to  smiling  and  singing, 
he  has  a  Napoleon  greater  than 
the  warrior. 

Nor  were  these  civil  deeds 
transient.  France  to-day  is 
largely  what  Napoleon  made 
her,  and  the  most  liberal  insti- 
tutions of  continental  Europe 
bear  his  impress.  It  is  only 
a  mind  of  noble  proportions 
which  can  grasp  the  needs  of  a 
people,  and  a  hand  of  mighty 
force  which  can  supply  them. 

But  he  was  greater  as  a  man 
than  as  a  warrior  or  statesman  ; 
greater  in  that  rare  and  subtile 
personal  quality  which  made 
men  love  him.  Men  went  down 
on  their  knees  and  wept  at 
sight  of  him  when  he  came  home 
from  Elba — rough  men  whose 
hearts  were  untrained,  and  who 
loved  naturally  and  spontane- 
ously the  thing  which  was 
lovable.  It  was  only  selfish, 
warped,  abnormal  natures, 
which  had  been  stifled  by  eti- 
quette and  diplomacy  and  self- 
interest,  who  abandoned  him. 
Where  nature  lived  in  a  heart, 
Napoleon's  sway  was  absolute. 
It  was  not  strange.  He  was 
in  everything  a  natural  man  ; 
his  imagination,  his  will,  his 
intellect,  his  heart,  were  native, 
untrained.  They  appealed  to 
unworldly  men  in  all  their  rude, 
often  brutal,  strength  and 
sweetness.  If  they  awed  them, 
they  won  them. 

This  native  force  of  Napo- 
leon explains,  at  least  partially, 
his  hold  on  men  ;  it  explains, 
too,  the  contrasts  of  his  char- 
acter. Never  was  there  a  life 
lived  so  full  of  lights  and  shades, 
of  majors  and  minors.  It  was 


226 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


a  kaleidoscope,  changing  at  every  moment. 
Beside  the  most  practical  and  common- 
place qualities  are  the  most  idealistic.  No 
man  ever  did  more  drudgery,  ever  followed 
details  more  slavishly  ;  yet  who  ever  dared 
so  divinely,  ever  played  such  hazardous 
games  of  chance  ?  No  man  ever  planned 
more  for  his  fellows,  yet  who  ever  broke 
so  many  hearts  ?  No  man  ever  made  prac- 
tical realities  of  so  many  of  liberty's 
dreams,  yet  it  was  by  despotism  that  he 
gave  liberal  and  beneficent  laws.  No  man 
was  more  gentle,  none  more  severe.  Never 
was  there  a  more  chivalrous  lover  until 
he  was  disillusioned  ;  a  more  affectionate 
husband,  even  when  faith  had  left  him;  yet 


no  man  ever  trampled  more  rudely  on 
womanly  delicacy  and  reserve. 

He  was  valorous  as  a  god  in  danger, 
loved  it,  played  with  it  ;  yet  he  would  turn 
pale  at  a  broken  mirror,  cross  himself  if 
he  stumbled,  fancy  the  coffee  poisoned  at 
which  an  enemy  had  looked. 

He  was  the  greatest  genius  of  his  time, 
perhaps  of  all  time,  yet  he  lacked  the 
crown  of  greatness — that  high  wisdom 
born  of  reflection  and  introspection  which 
knows  its  own  powers  and  limitations,  and 
never  abuses  them  ;  that  fine  sense  of  pro- 
portion which  holds  the  rights  of  others  in 
the  same  solemn  reverence  which  it  de- 
mands for  its  own. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE    SECOND    FUNERAL    OF     NAPOLEON.— REMOVAL    OF     NAPOLEON'S    REMAINS 
FROM    ST.    HELENA    TO    THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE    IN    1840. 

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. — TESTAMENT  OF  NAPOLEON,  2d  Clause. 

He  wants  not  this  ;  but  France  shall  feel  the  want 

Of  this  last  consolation,  though  so  scant ; 

Her  honor,  fame,  and  faith  demand  his  bones, 

To  rear  above  a  pyramid  of  thrones  ; 

Or  carried  onward,  in  the  battle's  van, 

To  form,  like  Guesclin's  dust,  her  talisman. 

But  be  it  as  it  is,  the  time  may  come, 

His  name  shall  beat  the  alarm  like  Ziska's  drum. 

— BYRON,  in  The  Age  of  Bronze. 


ON  May  12,  1840,  Louis  Philippe  being 
king  of  the  French  people,  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies  was  busy  with  a  discussion  on 
sugar  tariffs.  It  had  been  dragging  some- 
what, and  the  members  were  showing  signs 
of  restlessness.  Suddenly  the  Count  de 
Re'musat,  then  Minister  of  the  Interior,  ap- 
peared, and  asked  a  hearing  for  a  commu- 
nication from  the  government. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "the  king  has 
ordered  his  Royal  H'ighness  Monseigneur 
the  Prince  de  Joinville*  to  go  with  his 
frigate  to  the  island  of  St.  Helena,  there  to 
collect  the  remains  of  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon." 

A  tremor  ran  over  the  House.  The  an- 
nouncement was  utterly  unexpected.  Na- 
poleon to  come  back  !  The  body  seemed 
electrified,  and  the  voice  of  the  minister 
was  drowneM  for  a  moment  in  applause. 
When  he  went  on,  it  was  to  say  : 

"  We  have  come  to  ask  for  an  appropri- 

*  The  Prince  de  Joinville  was  the  third  son  of  Louis 
Philippe. 


ation  which  shall  enable  us  to  receive  the 
remains  in  a  fitting  manner,  and  to  raise  an 
enduring  tomb  to  Napoleon." 

"  Tres  bien  !   Tres  Men  !  "  cried  the  House. 

"  The  government,  anxious  to  discharge 
a  great  national  duty,  asked  England  for 
the  precious  treasure  which  fortune  had  put 
into  her  hands. 

"  The  thought  of  France  was  welcomed 
as  soon  as  expressed.  Listen  to  the  reply 
of  our  magnanimous  ally: 

"  '  The  government  of  her  Majesty  hopes  that  the 
promptness  of  her  response  will  be  considered  in 
France  as  a  proof  of  her  desire  to  efface  the  last 
traces  of  those  national  animosities  which  armed 
France  and  England  against  each  other  in  the  life  of 
the  emperor.  The  government  of  her  Majesty  dares 
to  hope  that  if  such  sentiments  still  exist  in  certain 
quarters,  they  will  be  buried  in  the  tomb  where  the 
remains  of  Napoleon  are  to  be  deposited.'  " 

The  reading  of  this  generous  and  digni- 
fied communication  caused  a  profound  sen- 
sation, and  cries  of  "•Bravo  !  bravo  !  "  re- 


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228 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


echoed  through  the  hall.     The  minister,  so 
well  received,  grew  eloquent. 

"  England  is  right,  gentlemen  ;  the  noble 
way  in  which  restitution  has  been  made 
will  knit  the  bonds  which  unite  us.  It  will 
wipe  out  all  traces  of  a  sorrowful  past. 
The  time  has  come  when  the  two  nations 
should  remember  only  their  glory.  The 
frigate  freighted  with  the  mortal  remains 
of  Napoleon  will  return  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Seine.  They  will  be  placed  in  the  In- 
valides.  A  solemn  celebration  and  grand 
religious  and  military  ceremonies  will  con- 
secrate the  tomb  which  must  guard  them 
forever. 

"  It  is  important,  gentlemen,  that  this 
august  sepulchre  should  not  remain  ex- 
posed in  a  public  place,  in  the  midst  of  a 
noisy  and  inappreciative  populace.  It 
should  be  in  a  silent  and  sacred  spot, 
where  all  those  who  honor  glory  and  genius, 
grandeur  and  misfortune,  can  visit  it  and 
meditate. 

"  He  was  emperor  and  king.  He  was 
the  legitimate  sovereign  of  our  country. 
He  is  entitled  to  burial  at  Saint-Denis. 
But  the  ordi- 
nary royal  sep- 
ulchre is  not 
enough  for 
Napoleon.  He 
should  reign 
and  command 
forever  in  the 
spot  where  the 
country's  sol- 
diers repose, 
and  where  those 
who  are  called 
to  defend  it  will 
seek  their  inspi- 
ration.  His 
sword  will  be 
placed  on  his 
tomb. 

"Art  will 
raise  beneath 
the  dome  of  the 
temple  conse- 
crated to  the 
god  of  battles, 
a  tomb  worthy, 
if  that  be  possi- 
ble, of  the  name 
which  shall  be 
engraved  upon 
it.  This  monu- 
ment must  have 
a  simple  beauty, 
grand  outlines, 
and  that  ap- 


pearance of  eternal  strength  which  defit» 
the  action  of  time.  Napoleon  must  have  a 
monument  lasting  as  his  memory.  .  .  . 
"  Hereafter  France,  and  France  alone, 
will  possess  all  that  remains  of  Napoleon. 
His  tomb,  like  his  fame,  will  belong  to  no 
one  but  his  country.  The  monarchy  of 
1830  is  the  only  and  the  legitimate  heir  of 
the  past  of  which  France  is  so  proud.  It 
is  the  duty  of  this  monarchy,  which  was 
the  first  to  rally  all  the  forces  and  to  con- 
ciliate all  the  aspirations  of  the  French 
Revolution,  fearlessly  to  raise  and  honor 
the  statue  and  the  tomb  of  the  popular 
hero.  There  is  one  thing,  one  only,  which 
does  not  fear  comparison  with  glory — that 
is  liberty." 

Throughout  this  speech,  every  word  of 
which  was  an  astonishment  to  the  Cham- 
ber, sincere  and  deep  emotion  prevailed. 
At  intervals  enthusiastic  applause  burst 
forth.  For  a  moment  all  party  distinctions 
were  forgotten.  The  whole  House  was 
under  the  sway  of  that  strange  and  power- 
ful emotion  which  Napoleon,  as  no  other 
leader  who  ever  lived,  was  able  to  inspire. 

When  the 
minister  fol- 
lowed his 
speech  by  the 
draft  of  a  law 
for  a  special 
credit  of  one 
million  francs^ 
a  member,  be- 
side himself 
with  excite- 
ment, moved 
that  rules  be 
laid  aside  and 
the  law  voted 
without  the 
legal  prelimi- 
n  a  r  i  e  s .  The 
president  re- 
fused to  put  so 
irregular  a  mo- 
tion, but  the 
House  would 
not  be  quiet. 
The  deputies- 
left  their  places, 
formed  in 
groups  in  the 
hemicycle,  sur- 
rounded the 
minister,  con- 
gratulating him 
with  fervor. 
They  walked  up- 
and  down,  ges- 


NAPOLEON'S  TOMB  AT  ST.  HELENA. 
From  a  recent  photograph. 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


ticulating  and  shouting.  It  was  fully  half 
an  hour  before  the  president  was  able  to 
bring  them  to  order,  and  then  they  were  in 
anything  but  a  working  mood. 

"The  president  must  close  the  session," 
cried  an  agitated  member ;  "  the  law  which 
has  just  been  proposed  has  caused  too 
great  emotion  for  iis  to  return  now  to  dis- 
cussing sugar." 

But  the  president  replied  very  properly, 
and  a  little  sententiously,  that  the  Cham- 
ber owed  its  time  to  the  country's  business, 
and  that  it  must  give  it.  And,  in  spite  of 
their  excitement,  the  members  had  to  go 
back  to  their  sugar. 

THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  "GRANDE  PENSEE." 

But  how  had  it  come  about  that  the 
French  government  had  dared  burst  upon 
the  country  with  so  astounding  a  communi- 
cation? 

There  were  many  explanations  offered. 
A  curious  story  which  went  abroad  took 
the  credit  from  the  king  and  gave  it  to 
O'Connell,  the  Irish  agitator. 

As  the  story  went,  O'Connell  had  warned 
Lord  Palmerston  that  he  proposed  to  pre- 
sent a  bill  in  the  Commons  for  returning 
Napoleon's  remains  to  France. 

"  Take  care,"  said  Lord  Palmerston. 
"  Instead  of  pleasing  the  French  govern- 
ment, you  may  embarrass  it  seriously." 

"  That  is  not  the  question,"  answered 
O'Connell.  "  The  question  for  me  is  what 
I  ought  to  do.  Now,  my  duty  is  to  propose 
to  the  Commons  to  return  the  emperor's 
bones.  England's  duty  is  to  welcome  the 
motion.  I  shall  make  my  propositions, 
then,  without  disturbing  myself  about 
whom  it  will  flatter  or  wound." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Lord  Palmerston. 
"  Only  give  me  fifteen  days." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  O'Connell. 

Immediately  Lord  Palmerston  wrote  to 
Monsieur  Thiers,  then  at  the  head  of  the 
French  Ministry,  that  he  was  about  to  be 
forced  to  tell  the  country  that  England  had 
never  refused  to  return  the  remains  of  Na- 
poleon to  France,  because  France  had  never 
asked  that  they  be  returned.  As  the  story 
goes,  Monsieur  Thiers  advised  Louis  Phi- 
lippe to  forestall  O'Connell,  and  thus  it 
came  about  that  Napoleon's  remains  were 
returned  to  France. 

The  grande  pensfa,  as  the  idea  was  im- 
mediately called,  seems,  however,  to  have 
originated  with  Monsieur  Thiers,  who  saw 
in  it  a  means  of  reawakening  interest  in 
Louis  Philippe.  He  believed  that  the  very 
audacity  of  the  act  would  create  admiration 


and  applause.  Then,  too,  it  was  in  har- 
mony with  the  claim  of  the  regime ;  that 
is,  that  the  government  of  1830  united  all 
that  was  best  in  all  the  past  governments  of 
France,  and  so  was  stronger  than  any  one 
of  them.  The  mania  of  both  king  and 
minister  for  collecting  and  restoring  made 
them  think  favorably  of  the  idea.  Already 
Louis  Philippe  had  inaugurated  galleries 
at  Versailles,  and  hung  them  with  miles  of 
canvas,  celebrating  the  victories  of  all  his 
predecessors.  In  the  gallery  of  portraits 
he  had  placed  Marie  Antoinette  and  Louis 
XVI.  beside  Madame  Roland,  Charlotte 
Corday,  Robespierre,  and  Napoleon  and 
his  marshals. 

He  had  already  replaced  the  statue 
of  Napoleon  on  the  top  of  the  Column 
Vendome.  He  had  restored  cathedrals, 
churches,  and  chateaux,  put  up  statues 
and  monuments,  and  all  this  he  had  done 
with  studied  indifference  to  the  politics  of 
the  individuals  honored. 

Yet  while  so  many  little  important  per- 
sonages were  being  exalted,  the  remains 
of  the  greatest  leader  France  had  ever 
known,  were  lying  in  a  far-away  island. 
Louis  Philippe  felt  that  no  monument  he 
could  build  to  the  heroes  of. the  past  would 
equal  restoring  Napoleon's  remains. 

The  matter  was  simpler,  because  it  was 
almost  certain  that  England  would  not 
block  the  path.  The  entente  cordials,  whose 
base  had  been  laid  by  Talleyrand  nearly 
ten  years  earlier,  had  become  a  compara- 
tively solid  peace,  and  either  nation  was 
willing  to  go  out  of  the  way,  if  necessary, 
to  do  the  other  a  neighborly  kindness. 
France  was  so  full  of  good  will  that  she 
was  even  willing  to  ask  a  favor.  Her  con- 
fidence was  well  placed.  Two  days  after 
Guizot,  then  the  French  minister  to  Eng- 
land, had  explained  the  project  to  Lord 
Palmerston,  and  made  his  request,  he  had 
his  reply. 

The  remains  of  the  «  emperor  "  were  at 
the  disposition  of  the  French.  Of  the  "  em- 
peror," notice  !  After  twenty-five  years 
England  recalled  the  act  of  her  ministers 
in  1815,  and  recognized  that  France  made 
Napoleon  emperor  as  well  as  general. 

EFFECT    ON    THE    COUNTRY. 

The  announcement  that  Napoleon's  re- 
mains were  to  be  brought  back,  produced 
the  same  effect  upon  the  country  at  large 
that  it  had  upon  the  Chamber — a  moment 
of  acute  emotion,  of  all-forgetting  enthu- 
siasm. But  in  the  Chamber  and  the 
country  the  feeling  was  short-lived.  The 


232 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


political  aspects  of  the  bold  movement 
were  too  conspicuous.  A  chorus  of  criti- 
cisms and  forebodings  arose.  It  was  more 
of  Monsieur  Thiers'  clap-trap,  said  those 
opposed  to  the  English  policy  of  the  gov- 
ernment. What  particularly  angered  this 
party,  was  the  words  "  magnanimous  ally  " 
in  the  minister's  address. 

The  Bonapartes  feigned  to  despise  the 
proposed  ceremony.  It  was  insufficient 
for  the  greatness  of  their  hero.  One  mil- 
lion francs  could  not  possibly  produce  the 
display  the  object  demanded.  Another 
point  of  theirs  was  more  serious.  The 
emperor  was  the  legitimate  sovereign  of 
the  country,  they  said,  quoting  from  the 
minister's  speech  to  the  Chamber,  and  they 
added:  "His  title  was  founded  on  the 
senatus  consultum  of  the  year  12,  which,  by 
an  equal  number  of  suffrages,  secured  the 
succession  to  his  brother  Joseph.  It  was 
then  unquestionably  Joseph  Bonaparte  who 
was  proclaimed  emperor  of  the  French  by 
the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  amid  the 
applause  of  the  deputies." 

Scoffers  said  that  Louis  Philippe  must 
have  discovered  that  his  soft  mantle  of 
popularity  was  about  worn  out,  if  he  was 
going  to  make  one  of  the  old  gray  redin- 
gote  of  a  man  whom  he  had  called  a  mon- 
ster. The  Legitimists  denied  that  Napo- 
leon was  a  legitimate  sovereign  with  a 
right  to  sleep  at  Saint-Denis  like  a  Bour- 
bon or  a  Valois.  The  Orleanists  were 
wounded  by  the  hopes  they  saw  inspired 
in  the  Bonapartists  by  this  declaration. 
The  Republicans  resented  the  honor  done 
to  the  man  whom  they  held  up  as  the 
greatest  of  all  despots. 

There  was  a  conviction  among  many 
that  the  restoration  was  premature,  and 
probably  would  bring  on  the  country  an 
agitation  which  would  endanger  the  sta- 
bility of  the  throne.  It  was  tempting  the 
Bonaparte  pretensions  certainly,  and  per- 
haps arousing  a  tremendous  popular  sen- 
timent to  support  tHem. 

While  the  press  and  government,  the 
clubs  and  cafes,  discussed  the  political  side 
of  the  question,  the  populace  quietly  re- 
vived the  Napoleon  legend.  Within  two 
days  after  the  government  had  announced 
its  intentions,  commerce  had  begun  to  take 
advantage  of  the  financial  possibilities  in 
the  approaching  ceremony.  New  editions 
of  the  "  Lives"  of  Napoleon  which  Vernet 
and  Raffet  had  illustrated,  were  advertised. 
Dumas'  "Life"  and  Thiers'  "Consulate 
and  Empire"  were  announced.  Memoirs  of 
the  period,  like  those  of  the  Duchesse 
d'Abrantes  and  of  Marmont,  were  revived. 


As  on  the  announcement  of  Napoleon's 
death  in  1821,  there  was  an  inundation  of 
pamphlets  in  verse  and  prose  ;  of  portraits 
and  war  compositions,  lithographs,  en- 
gravings, and  wood-cuts  ;  of  thousands  of 
little  objects  such  as  the  French  know  so 
well  how  to  make.  The  shops  and  street 
carts  were  heaped  with  every  conceivable 
article  a  la  Napoleon.  The  legend  grew  as 
the  people  gazed. 

TO    ST.    HELENA    AND    BACK. 

On  July  yth  the  "  Belle  Poule,"  the  vessel 
which  was  to  conduct  the  Prince  de  Join- 
ville,  the  commander  of  the  expedition,  to 
St.  Helena,  sailed  from  Toulon  accom- 
panied by  the  "  Favorite."  In  the  suite  of 
the  Prince  were  several  old  friends  of 
Napoleon  :  the  Baron  las  Cases,  General 
Gourgaud,  Count  Bertrand,  and  four  of  his 
former  servants.  All  of  these  persons  had 
been  with  him  at  St.  Helena. 

The  Prince  de  Joinville  had  not  received 
his  orders  to  go  on  the  expedition  with 
great  pleasure.  Two  of  his  brothers  had 
just  been  sent  to  Africa  to  fight,  and  he 
envied  them  their  opportunities  for  adven- 
tures and  glory  ;  and,  besides,  he  was  sick 
of  a  most  plebeian  complaint,  the  measles. 
"  One  day  as  I  lay  in  high  fever,"  he  says  in 
his  "  Memoirs,"  "  I  saw  my  father  appear, 
followed  by  Monsieur  de  Remusat,  then 
Minister  of  the  Interior.  This  unusual 
visit  filled  me-with  astonishment,  and  my 
surprise  increased  when  my  father  said, 
'Joinville,  you  are  to  go  out  to  St.  Helena 
and  bring  back  Napoleon's  coffin.'  If  I 
had  not  been  in  bed  already  I  should 
have  fallen  down  flat,  and  at  first  blush  I 
felt  no  wise  flattered  when  I  compared  the 
warlike  campaign  my  brothers  were  on 
with  the  undertaker's  job  I  was  being  sent 
to  perform  in  the  other  hemisphere.  But 
I  served  my  country,  and  I  had  no  right 
to  discuss  my  orders." 

If  the  young  prince  was  privately  a  little 
ashamed  of  his  task,  publicly  he  adapted 
himself  admirably  to  the  occasion. 

A  voyage  of  sixty-six  days  brought  the 
"  Belle  Poule,"  on  October  8th,  to  St.  Hel- 
ena, where  she  was  welcomed  by  the  Eng- 
lish with  every  honor.  Indeed,  throughout 
the  affair  the  attitude  of  the  English  was 
dignified  and  generous.  They  showed 
plainly  their  desire  to  satisfy  and  flatter  the 
pride  and  sentiment  of  the  French. 

It  had  been  decided  that  the  exhumation 
of  the  body  and  its  transfer  to  the  French 
should  take  place  on  the  twenty-fifth  anni- 
versary of  the  arrival  of  Napoleon  at  the 


234 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


island.  The  disinterment  was  begun  at  mid- 
night on  October  i5th,the  English  conduct- 
ing the  work,  and  a  number  of  the  French, 
including  those  of  the  party  who  had  been 
with  Napoleon  at  his  death,  being  present. 
The  work  was  one  of  extraordinary  diffi- 
culty, for  the  same  remarkable  precautions 
against  escape  were  taken  in  Napoleon's 
death  as  had  been  in  his  life. 

The  grave  in  the  Valley  of  Napoleon,  as 
the  place  had  come  to  be  called,  was  sur- 
rounded by  an  iron  railing  set  in  a  heavy 
stone  curb.  Over  the  grave  was  a  cover- 
ing of  six-inch  stone  which  admitted  to  a 
vault  eleven  feet  deep,  eight  feet  long,  and 
four  feet  eight  inches  broad.  The  vault  was 
apparently  filled  with  earth,  but  digging 
down  some  seven  feet  a  layer  of  Roman 
cement  was  found  ;  this  broken,  laid  bare 
a  layer  of  rough-hewn  stone  ten  inches 
thick,  and  fastened. together  by  iron  clamps. 
It  took  four  and  one-half  hours  to  remove 
this  layer.  The  stone  up,  the  slab  forming 
the  lid  of  the  interior  sarcophagus  was  ex- 
posed, enclosed  in  a  border  of  Roman 
cement  strongly  attached  to  the  walls  of 
the  vault.  So  stoutly  had  all  these  various 
coverings  been  sealed  with  cement  and 
bound  by  iron  bands,  that  it  took  the  large 
party  of  laborers  ten  hours  to  reach  the 
coffin. 

As  soon  as  exposed  the  coffin  was  puri- 
fied, sprinkled  with  holy  water,  consecrated 
by  a  De  Profundis,  and  then  raised  with  the 
greatest  care,  and  carried  into  a  tent  which 
had  been  prepared  for  it.  After  the  re- 
ligious ceremonies,  the  inner  coffins  were 
opened.  "  The  outermost  coffin  was  slightly 
injured,"  says  an  eye-witness;  "then  came 
one  of  lead,  which  was  in  good  condition, 
and  enclosed  two  others — one  of  tin  and 
one  of  wood.  The  last  coffin  was  lined 
inside  with  white  satin,  which,  having  be- 
come detached  by  the  effect  of  time,  had 
fallen  upon  the  body  and  enveloped  it  like 
a  winding-sheet,  and  had  become  slightly 
attached  to  it. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  describe  with  what  anx- 
iety and  emotion  those  who  were  present 
waited  for  the  moment  which  was  to  expose 
to  them  all  that  was  left  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon.  Notwithstanding  the  singular 
state  of  preservation  of  the  tomb  and  cof- 
fins, we  could  scarcely  hope  to  find  any- 
thing but  some  misshapen  remains  of  the 
least  perishable  part  of  the  costume  to  evi- 
dence the  identity  of  the  body.  But  when 
Dr.  Guillard  raised  the  sheet  of  satin,  an 
indescribable  feeling  of  surprise  and  affec- 
tion was  expressed  by  the  spectators,  many 
of  whom  burst  into  tears.  The  emperor 


himself  was  before  their  eyes  !  The  feat- 
ures of  the  face,  though  changed,  were  per- 
fectly recognizable  ;  the  hands  extremely 
beautiful ;  his  well-known  costume  had  suf- 
fered but  little,  and  the  colors  were  easily 
distinguished.  The  attitude  itself  was  full 
of  ease,  and  but  for  the  fragments  of  satin 
lining  which  covered,  as  with  fine  gauze, 
several  parts  of  the  uniform,  we  might  have 
believed  we  still  saw  Napoleon  lying  on  his 
bed  of  state." 

A  solemn  procession  was  now  formed, 
and  the  coffin  borne  over  the  rugged  hills 
of  St.  Helena  to  the  quay.  "  We. were  all 
deeply  impressed,"  says  the  Prince  de  Join- 
ville,  "  when  the  coffin  was  seen  coming 
slowly  down  the  mountain  side  to  the  fir- 
ing of  cannon,  escorted  by  British  infantry 
with  arms  reversed,  the  band  playing,  to 
the  dull  rolling  accompaniment  of  the 
drums,  that  splendid  funeral  march  which 
English  people  call  the  Dead  March  in 
Saul." 

At  the  head  of  the  quay,  the  Prince  de 
Joinville,  attended  by  the  officers  of  the 
French  vessels,  was  waiting  to  receive  the 
remains  of  the  emperor.  In  the  midst  of 
the  most  solemn  military  funeral  rites  the 
French  embarked  with  their  precious 
charge.  "  The  scene  at  that  moment  was 
very  fine,"  continues  the  prince.  "  A  mag- 
nificent sunset  had  been  succeeded  by  a 
twilight  of  the  deepest  calm.  The  British 
authorities  and  the  troops  stood  motionless 
on  the  beach,  while  our  ship's  guns  fired  a 
royal  salute.  I  stood  in  the  stern  of  my 
long-boat,  over  which  floated  a  magnificent 
tricolor  flag,  worked  by  the  ladies  of  St. 
Helena.  Beside  me  were  the  generals  and 
superior  officers.  The  pick  of  my  topmen, 
all  in  white,  with  crape  on  their  arms,  and 
bareheaded  like  ourselves,  rowed  the  boat 
in  silence,  and  with  the  most  admirable 
precision.  We  advanced  with  majestic 
slowness,  escorted  by  the  boats  bearing  the 
staff.  It  was  very  touching,  and  a  deep 
national  sentiment  seemed  to  hover  over 
the  whole  scene." 

But  no  sooner  did  the  coffin  reach  the 
French  cutter  than  mourning  was  changed 
to  triumph.  Flags  were  unfurled,  masts 
squared,  drums  set  a-beating,  and  salvos 
poured  from  forts  and  vessels.  The  em- 
peror had  come  back  to  his  own  ! 

Three  days  later  the  "  Belle  Poule  "  was 
en  route  for  France.  One  incident  alone 
marked  her  return.  A  passing  vessel 
brought  the  news  that  war  had  been  de- 
clared between  France  and  England.  The 
Prince  de  Joinville  was  only  twenty-two,  a 
hot-headed  youth,  and  the  news  of  war 


236 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


immediately  convinced  him  that  England 
had  her  fleet  out  watching  for  him,  ready 
to  carry  off  Napoleon  again.  He  rose  to 
the  height  of  his  fears.  The  elegant  fur- 
nishings of  the  saloons  of  his  vessel  were 
torn  out  and  thrown  overboard  to  make 
room  to  put  in  batteries  ;  the  men  were 
made  ready  for  fighting,  and  everybody  on 
board  was  compelled  to  take  an  oath  to 
sink  the  vessel  before  allowing  the  remains 
to  be  taken.  This  done,  the  "  Belle  Poule  " 
went  her  way  peacefully  to  Cherbourg, 
where  she  arrived  on  November  3oth, 
forty-three  days  after  leaving  St.  Helena. 

The  town  of  Cherbourg  owes  much  to 
Napoleon — her  splendid  harbors,  and  great 
tracts  of  land  rescued  from  the  sea — and 
she  honored  the  return  of  his  remains  with 
-every  pomp.  Even  the  poor  of  the  town 
were  made  to  rejoice  by  lavish  gifts  in  the 
•emperor's  honor ;  and  one  of  the  chief 
squares — one  he  had  redeemed  from  the 
sea — became  the  Place  Napoleon. 

The  vessels  lay  eight  days  at  Cherbourg, 
for  the  arrival  had  been  a  fortnight  earlier 
than  was  anticipated, and  nothingwas ready 
for  the  celebration  in  Paris ;  but  the  time 
was  none  too  long  for  the  thousands  who 
flocked  in  interminable  processions  to  the 
vessels.  When  the  vessels  left  for  Havre, 
Cherbourg  was  so  excited  that  she  did  what 
must  have  seemed  to  the  nervous  inhabit- 
ants an  extravagance,  even  in  Napoleon's 
honor.  She  fired  a  thousand  guns  ! 


FROM    CHERBOURG    TO    PARIS. 

The  passage  of  the  flotilla  from  Cher- 
bourg to  Paris  took  seven  days.  At 
almost  every  town  and  hamlet  elaborate 
demonstrations  were  made.  At  Havre 
and  Rouen  they  were  especially  magnifi- 
cent. 

A  striking  feature  of  the  river  cortege 
was  the  ceremonies  at  the  various  bridges 
under  which  the  vessels  passed.  The  most 
elaborate  of  these  was  at  Rouen,  where  the 
central  arch  of  the  suspension  bridge  had 
been  formed  into  an  immense  arch  of  tri- 
umph. The  decorations  were  the  exclusive 
work  of  wounded  legionary  officers  and 
soldiers  of  the  Empire.  When  the  vessel 
bearing  the  coffin  passed  under,  the  vet- 
erans showered  down  upon  it  wreaths  of 
flowers  and  branches  of  laurel. 

These  elaborate  and  grandiose  ceremo- 
nies were  not,  however,  the  really  touch- 
ing feature  of  the  passage.  The  hill-sides 
and  river-banks  were  crowded  with  people 
from  all  the  surrounding  country,  who 


sometimes  even  pressed  into  the  river  in 
order  better  to  see  the  vessels.  Those  on 
the  flotilla  saw  aged  peasants  firing  salutes 
with  ancient  muskets,  old  men  kneeling 
with  uncovered  heads  on  the  sod,  and 
others,  their  heads  in  their  hands  weeping 
— these  men  were  veterans  of  the  Empire 
paying  homage  to  the  passage  of  their  hero. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  'of  December 
i4th,  just  as  the  sun  was  setting  radi- 
antly behind  Mt.  Valerian,  that  the  flotilla 
reached  Courbevoie,  a  few  miles  from 
Paris,  where  Napoleon's  body  was  first 
to  touch  French  soil.  The  bridge  at 
Courbevoie,  the  islands  of  Neuilly,  the 
hills  which  rise  from  the  Seine,  were 
crowded,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  with 
a  throng  drawn  from  the  entire  country 
around. 

The  flotilla  as  it  approached  was  a  bril- 
liant sight.  At  the  head  was  the  "  Do- 
rade,"  a  cross  at  her  prow,  and,  behind, 
the  coffin.  It  was  dressed  in  purple  velvet, 
surrounded  by  flags  and  garlands  of  oak 
and  cypress,  surmounted  by  a  canopy  of 
black  velvet  ornamented  with  silver  and 
masses  of  floating  black  plumes.  Between 
cross  and  coffin  stood  the  Prince  de  Join- 
ville  in  full  uniform,  and  behind  him  Gen- 
erals Bertrand  and  Gourgaud  and  the  Abbe" 
Coquereau,  almoner  of  the  expedition. 
The  vessels  following  the  "  Dorade  "  bore 
the  crews  of  the  "  Belle  Poule  "  and  the 
"  Favorite  "  and  the  military  bands.  A 
magnificent  funeral  boat,  on  whose  deck 
there  was  a  temple  of  bronzed  wood,  hung 
with  splendid  draperies  of  purple  and 
gold,  brought  up  the  official  procession. 
Behind  followed  numberless  craft  of  all 
descriptions.  Majestic  funeral  marches 
and  salvos  of  artillery  accompanied  the  ad- 
vance. 

At  Courbevoie  the  flotilla  anchored. 
Notwithstanding  the  intense  cold,  thou- 
sands of  people  camped  all  night  on  the 
hill-sides  and  shores,  their  bivouac  fires 
illuminating  the  landscape. 


DECEMBER    15,    1840. 

Only  those  who  have  seen  Paris  on  the 
day  of  a  great  fete  or  ceremony  can  picture 
to  themselves  the  i5th  of  December,  1840. 
The  day  was  intensely  cold,  eight  degrees 
below  the  freezing  point,  but  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  when  the  drums  began  beat- 
ing, and  the  guns  booming,  the  populace 
poured  forth,  taking  up  their/  positions 
along  the  line  of  the  expected  procession. 
This  line  was  fully  three  miles  in  length, 


'38 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


and  ran  from  Courbevoie  to  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe  by  way  of  Neuilly,  thence  down 
the  Champs  Elysees,  across  the  Place  and 
Bridge  de  la  Concorde,  and  along  the  quai 
to  the  Esplanade  des  Invalides.  From  one 
end  to  the  other  it  was  packed  on  either 
side  a  hundred  deep,  before  nine  o'clock. 
The  journals  of  the  day  compute  the  num- 
ber of  visitors  expected  in  Paris  as  about 
half  a  million.  Inside  and  outside  of  the 
Hotel  des  Invalides  alone,  thirty-six  thou- 
sand places  were  given  to  the  Minister  of 
the  Interior,  and  that  did  not  cover  one- 
tenth  of  the  requests  he  received.  It  is 
certain  that  nearly  a  million  persons  saw 
the  entry  of  Napoleon's  remains.  The 
people  hung  from  the  trees,  crowded  the 
roofs,  stood  on  ladders  of  every  description, 
filled  the  windows,  and  literally  swarmed 
over  the  walks  and  grass  plots.  A  brisk 
business  went  on  in  elevated  positions.  A 
ladder  rung  cost  five  francs  ($1.00);  the 
man  who  had  a  cart  across  which  he  had 
laid  boards,  rented  standing-room  at  from 
five  to  ten  francs.  As  for  windows  and 
balconies — they  sold  for  fabulous  prices,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  placard  fenetres 
et  balcons  a  louer  appeared  in  almost  every 
house  from  Neuilly  to  the  Invalides,  even 
in  many  a  magnificent  hotel  of  the  Champs 
Elysees.  Fifty  francs  ($10.00)  was  the  price 
of  the  meanest  window  ;  a  good  one  cost 
one  hundred  francs  ($20.00);  three  thou- 
sand francs  ($600.00)  were  paid  for  good 
balconies.  One  speculator  rented  a  va- 
cant house  for  the  day  for  five  thousand 
francs  ($1,000.00),  and  made  money  on  his 
investment. 

The  crowd  made  every  preparation  to 
keep  warm  ;  some  of  them  carried  foot- 
stoves  filled  with  live  coals,  others  little 
hand-warmers.  At  intervals  along  the 
procession  great  masses  of  the  spectators 
danced  to  keep  up  their  circulation.  Vend- 
ers of  all  sorts  of  articles  did  a  thriving 
business.  Every  article  was,  of  course, 
Napoleonized  ;  one  even  bough \. gauffrettes 
and  Madeleines  cut  out  in  the  shape  of 
Napoleons.  There  were  badges  of  every 
form — imperial  eagles,  bees,  crowns,  even 
ihtfetit  chapeau.  Many  pamphlets  in  prose 
and  verse  had  a  great  sale,  especially  those 
of  Casimir  Delavigne,  Victor  Hugo,  and 
Barthe"lemy  ;  though  all  these  stately  odes 
were  far  outstripped  by  one  song,  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  copies  of  which  were 
sold.  It  ran  : 

"  Premier  capitaine  du  monde 
Depuis  le  sie"ge  de  Toulon, 
Tant  sur  la  terre  que  sur  1'onde 
Tout  redoutait  Napoleon. 


Du  Nil  au  nord  de  la  Tamise  ! 
Devant  lui  1'ennemi  fuyait, 
Avant  de  combattre,  il  tremblait 

Voyant  sa  redingote  grise."  * 

The  cortege  which  had  brought  this 
crowd  together  was  magnificent  in  the  ex- 
treme. A  brilliant  military  display  formed 
the  first  portion  :  gendarmerie,  municipal 
guards,  officers,  infantry,  cavalry,  artillery, 
cadets  from  the  important  schools,  national 
guards.  But  this  had  little  effect  on  the 
crowd.  The  genuine  interest  began  when 
Marengo,  Napoleon's  famous  battle-horse, 
appeared — it  was  not  Marengo,  but  it 
looked  like  him,  which  for  spectacular  pur- 
poses was  just  as  well  ;  and  the  saddle  and 
bridle  were  genuine — the  defile  now  became 
exciting.  The  commission  of  St.  Helena 
appeared  in  carriages,  then  the  Marshals  of 
France,  the  Prince  de  Joinville,  the  crews 
of  the  vessels  which  had  been  to  St.  Helena, 
finally  the  funeral  car,  a  magnificent  crea- 
tion over  thirty  feet  high,  its  design  and 
ornaments  symbolic.  Sixteen  black  horses 
in  splendid  trappings  drew  the  car,  whose 
funeral  pall  was  held  by  a  marshal  and  an 
admiral  of  France,  by  the  Due  de  Reggio 
and  General  Bertrand. 

The  passing  of  the  car  was  everywhere 
greeted  with  sincere  emotion,  profound 
reverence. 

Even  the  opposition  recognized  the  gen- 
uineness of  the  feeling  ;  many  of  them 
owned  to  sharing  it  for  one  moment  of 
self-forgetfulness,  and  they  began  to  ask 
themselves,  as  Lamartine  had  asked  the 
Chamber  six  months  before,  what  they  had 
been  thinking  to  allow  the  French  heart 
and  imagination  to  be  so  fired  ?  Even 
cynical  Englishmen  who  looked  on  with 
stern  or  contemptuous  countenances,  said 
to  themselves  meditatively  that  night,  as 
they  sat  by  their  fire  resting,  "  Something 
good  must  have  been  in  this  man,  some- 
thing loving  and  kindly,  that  has  kept  his 
name  so  cherished  in  the  popular  memory 
and  gained  him  such  lasting  reverence  and 
affection." 

Following  the  car  came  those  who  had 
been  intimately  associated  with  the  em- 
peror in  his  life — his  aides-de-camp  and 
civil  and  military  officers.  Many  of  them 
had  been  with  him  in  famous  battles  ;  some 
were  at  Fontainebleau  in  1814,  others  at 
Malmaison  in  1815.  The  veterans  of  the 

*  The  greatest  captain,  all  agree, 

Since  the  siege  of  Toulon  ; 
On  the  earth  as  on  the  sea, 

All  yielded  to  Napoleon. 
His  enemies  fled,  full  of  dismay, 

Beyond  the  Thames  from  off  the  Nile, 

Before  the  fight,  trembling  the  while 
If  they  but  saw  his  redingote  gray. 


240 


THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 


Imperial  Guard  followed  ;  behind  them  a 
deputation  from  Ajaccio. 

From  Courbevoie  to  the  Hotel  des  Inva- 
lides,  one  walked  through  a  hedge  of  elab- 
orate decorations  —  of  bees,  eagles,  crowns, 
N's;  of  bucklers,  banners,  and  wreaths  bear- 
ing the  names  of  famous  victories  ;  of  urns 
blazing  with  incense  ;  of  rostral  columns  ; 
masts  bearing  trophies  of  arms  and  clus- 
ters of  flags  ;  flaming  tripods  ;  allegorical 
statues  ;  triumphal  arches  ;  great  banks  of 
seats  draped  in  imperial  purple  and  packed 
with  spectators,  and  phalanges  of  soldiers. 

On  the  top  of  the  Arc  de  Triomphe 
was  an  imposing  apotheosis  of  Napoleon. 
Each  side  of  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde,  was 
adorned  with  huge  statues.  On  the  Espla- 
nade des  Invalides  the  car  passed  between 
an  avenue  of  thirty-two  statues  of  great 
French  kings,  heroes,  and  heroines  — 
Charles  Martel,  Charlemagne,  Clovis,  Bay- 
ard, Jean  d'Arc,  Latour  d'Auvergne,  Ney. 
The  chivalry  and  valor  of  France  wel- 
comed Napoleon  home.  Oddly  enough, 
this  hedge  of  statues  ended  in  one  of 
Napoleon  himself  ;  the  incongruity  of 
the  arrangement  struck  even  the  gamins. 
"  Tiens,"  cried  one  urchin,  "  voila  comrne 
1'empereur  fait  la  queue  a  lui-meme." 
("  Hello,  see  there  how  the  emperor  brings 
up  his  own  procession.") 

The  procession  passed  quietly  from  one 
end  to  the  other  of  the  route,  to  the  great 
relief  of  the  authorities.  Difficulty  was  an- 
ticipated from  several  sources  :  from  the 
Anglophobes,  the  Revolutionists,  the  Le- 
gitimists, the  Bonapartists,  and  the  great 
mass  of  dissatisfied,  who,  no  matter  what 
form  of  rule  they  are  under,  are  always 
against  the  government.  The  greatest  fear 
seems  to  have  been  on  the  part  of  the 
English.  Thackeray,  who  was  in  town  at 
the  time,  gives  an  amusing  picture  of  his 
own  nervousness  on  the  morning  of  the 


"  Did  the  French  nation,  or  did  they  not,  intend 
to  offer  up  some  of  us  English  over  the  imperial 
grave  ?  And  were  the  games  to  be  concluded  by  a 
massacre  ?  It  was  said  in  the  newspapers  that  Lord 
Granville  had  despatched  circulars  to  all  the  Eng- 
lish residents  in  Paris,  begging  them  to  keep  their 
homes.  The  French  journals  announced  this  news, 
and  warned  us  charitably  of  the  fate  intended  for  us. 
Had  Lord  Granville  written  ?  Certainly  not  to  me. 
Or  had  he  written  to  all  except  me?  And  was  I  the 
victim  —  the  doomed  one?  —  to  be  seized  directly  I 
showed  my  face  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es,  and  torn  in 
pieces  by  French  patriotism  to  the  frantic  chorus  of 
the  Marseillaise?  Depend  on  it,  Madame,  that  high 
and  low  in  this  city  on  Tuesday  were  not  altogether 
at  their  ease,  and  that  the  bravest  felt  no  small 
tremor.  And  be  sure  of  this,  that  as  his  Majesty 
Louis  Philippe  took  his  nightcap  off  his  royal  head 


that  morning,  he  prayed  heartily  that  he  might  at 
night  put  it  on  in  safety." 

Fortunately  Thackeray's  courage  con- 
quered, and  so  we  have  the  entertaining 
"Second  Funeral  of  Napoleon,"  by  "  Mi- 
chael Angelo  Titmarsh." 

In  spite  of  all  forebodings,  the  hostile 
displays  were  nothing  more  than  occa- 
sional cries  of  "A  has  les  Anglais"  a  few  at- 
tempts to  promenade  the  tricolor  flag  and 
drown  Le  Premier  Capitaine  du  Monde  by 
the  Marseillaise,  and  a  strong  indignation 
when  it  was  learned  that  the  representa- 
tives of  the  allies  had  refused  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  final  ceremony. 

Most  of  the  observers  of  the  funeral 
attributed  the  good  order  of  the  crowd  to 
the  cold.  A  correspondent  of  the  "Na- 
tional Intelligence"  of  that  date  says  : 

"  If  this  business  had  fallen  in  the  month  of  June  or 
July,  with  all  its  excitements,  spontaneous  and  elabo- 
rate, I  should  have  deemed  a  sanguinary  struggle 
between  the  government  and  the  mob  certain  or 
highly  probable.  The  present  military  array  might 
answer  for  an  approaching  army  of  Cossacks.  Forty 
or  fifty  thousand  troops  remain  in  the  barracks  with- 
in and  camps  without,  besides  the  regular  soldiery 
and  National  Guards  in  the  field,  ready  to  act  against 
the  domestic  enemy. 

"  Providentially  the  cold  increased  to  the  utmost 
keenness  ;  the  genial  currents  of  the  insurrectionary 
and  revolutionary  soul  were  frozen." 

The  climax  ot  the  pageant  was  the 
temple  of  the  Invalides.  The  spacious 
church  was  draped  in  the  most  magnificent 
and  lavish  fashion,  and  adorned  with  a 
perfect  bewilderment  of  imperial  emblems. 
The  light  was  shut  out  by  hangings  of 
violet  velvet ;  tripods  blazing  with  colored 
flames,  and  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  waxen  candles  in  brilliant  candelabra 
lighted  the  temple.  Under  the  dome,  in 
the  place  of  the  altar,  stood  the  catafalque 
which  was  to  receive  the  coffin. 

From  early  in  the  morning  the  galleries, 
choir,  and  tribunes  of  the  Invalides  were 
packed  by  a  distinguished  company.  There 
were  the  Chambers  of  Deputies  and  Lords 
— neither  of  which  had  been  represented 
in  the  cortege — the  judicial  and  educa- 
tional bodies,  the  officers  of  army  and 
navy,  the  ambassadors  and  representatives 
of  foreign  governments,  the  king,  and  the 
court. 

But  none  of  these  dignitaries  were  of 
more  than  passing  interest  that  day.  The 
centre  of  attention,  until  the  coffin  entered, 
was  the  few  old  soldiers  of  the  Empire  to 
be  seen  in  the  company  ;  most  prominent 
of  these  was  Marshal  Moncey,  the  decrepit 
governor  of  the  Invalides. 


HOTEL    DBS    INVALIDES        THE   CATAFALQUE   ON    WHICH     THE   COKHN    KESTS   IS 


THE    FUNERAL   MA 


It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  preceded 
by  a  splendid  cross-bearer,  and  followed 
by  sixteen  incense  boys  and  long  rows 
of  white-clad  priests,  left  the  church  to 
meet  the  procession.  They  returned  soon. 
Following  them  were  the  Prince  de  Join- 
ville  and  a  select  few  from  the  grand 


cortege  without;  in  their  midst,  Napoleon's 
coffin. 

As  it  passed,  the  great  assemblage  was 
swayed  by  an  extraordinary  emotion. 
There  is  no  one  of  those  who  have  de- 
scribed the  day  who  does  not  speak  of  the 
sudden,  intense  agitation  which  thrilled 
the  company,  whether  he  refers  to  it  half- 


NAPOLEON'S  TOMB  IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  HOTEL  DBS  INVALIDES  AS  IT  APPEARS  AT  THE  PRESENT  DAY. 


humorously  as  Thackeray,  who  told  how 
"everybody's  heart  was  thumping  as 
hard  as  possible,"  or  cries  with  Victor 
Hugo  : 

"  Sire:  En  ce  moment-la,  vouz  aurez  pour  royaume, 
Tous  les  fronts,  tous  les  coeurs  qui  battront  sous 

le  ciel, 

Les  nations  feront  asseoir  votre  fantome, 
Au  trone  universe!. "  * 

*Sire,  in  that  moment  your  kingdom  will  be  on  every 
brow,  in  every  heart  which  beats  under  heaven.  The  nations 
will  seat  your  phantom  on  a  universal  throne. 


The  king  descended  from  his  throne  and 
advanced  to  meet  the  cortege.  "  Sire," 
said  the  Prince  de  Joinville,  "  I  present  to 
you  the  body  of  Napoleon,  which,  in  ac- 
cordance with  your  commands,  I  have 
brought  back  to  France." 

"  I  receive  it  in  the  name  of  France," 
replied  Louis  Philippe. 

Such  at  least  is  what  the  "Moniteur" 
affirms  was  said,  but  the  "  Moniteur  "  is  an 
official  journal  whose  business  is,  not  to 
tell  what  really  happened,  but  what  would 


NAPOLEON'S  PRESENT  TOMB. 


243 


have  happened  if  the  government  had  had 
its  way.  The  Prince  de  Joinville  gives  a 
different  version:  "  The  king  received  the 
body  at  the  entrance  to  the  nave,  and  there 
rather  a  comical  scene  took  place.  It 
appears  that  a  little  speech  which  I  was  to 
have  delivered  when  I  met  my  father,  and 
also  the  answer  he  was  to  give  me,  had 
been  drawn  up  in  council,  only  the  author- 
ities had  omitted  to  inform  me  concerning 
it.  So  when  I  arrived  I  simply  saluted 
with  my  sword,  and  then  stood  aside.  I 
saw,  indeed,  that  this  silent  salute,  followed 
by  retreat,  had  thrown  something  out  ; 
but  my  father,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
improvised  some  appropriate  sentence,  and 
the  matter  was  arranged  in  the '  Moniteur.' " 

Beside  the  king  stood  an  officer,  bearing 
a  cushion ;  on  it  lay  the  sword  of  Austerlitz. 
Marshal  Soult  handed  it  to  the  king,  who, 
turning  to  Bertrand,  said: 

"  General,  I  commission  you  to  place  the 
emperor's  glorious  sword  on  the  bier." 

And  Bertrand,  trembling  with  emotion, 
laid  the  sword  reverently  on  his  idol's 
coffin.  The  great  company  watched  the 
scene  in  deepest  silence.  The  only  sound 
which  broke  the  stillness  was  the  half- 
stifled  sobs  of  the  gray-haired  soldiers  of 
the  Invalides,  who  stood  in  places  of  honor 
near  the  catafalque. 

The  king  and  the  procession  returned  to 
their  places,  and  then  followed  a  majestic 
funeral  mass.  The  Requiem  of  Mozart,  as 
rendered  that  day  by  all  the  great  singers 
of  Paris,  is  one  of  the  historic  musical  per- 
formances of  France.  The  archbishop  then 
sprinkled  the  coffin  with  holy  water,  the 
king  taking  the  brush  from  him  for  the 
same  sacred  duty. 

The  funeral  was  over.  Napoleon  lay  at 
last  "  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  among  the 
people  whom  he  had  so  loved." 

AFTER    THE    FUNERAL. 

For  eight  days  after  the  ceremony  the 
church  remained  open  to  the  public,  and 
in  spite  of  the  terrible  cold  thousands 
stood  from  morning  until  night  waiting 
patiently  their  turn  to  enter.  After  hours 
of  waiting,  they  frequently  were  sent  away, 
only  to  come  back  earlier  the  next  day.  In 
this  company  were  numbers  of  veterans  of 
the  imperial  army  who  had  made  the  jour- 
ney to  Paris  from  distant  parts  of  the  king- 
dom. In  the  delegation  from  Belgium  were 
many  who  had  walked  part  of  the  way,  not 
being  able  to  pay  full  coach  fare. 

Banquets    and    dinners     followed     the 


funeral.  At  one  of  these,  a  "sacred  toast 
to  the  immortal  memory"  was  drunk  kneel- 
ing. In  a  dozen  theatres  of  Paris  the 
translation  of  the  remains  was  dramatized. 
At  the  Porte  Saint-Martin,  the  actor  who 
took  the  part  of  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  had  a 
season  of  terror,  he  being  in  constant 
danger  of  violence  from  the  wrought-up 
audience. 

The  advertising  columns  of  the  news- 
papers of  the  day  blazed  for  weeks  with 
announcements  of  Napoleonized  articles  ; 
the  holiday  gifts  prepared  for  the  booths 
of  the  boulevards  and  squares,  and  for  the 
magnificent  shops  of  the  Palais  Royal  and 
the  fashionable  streets,  whatever  their 
nature — to  eat,  to  wear,  to  look  at — were 
made  up  as  memorials.  Paris  seemed  to 
be  Napoleon-mad. 

In  the  February  following  the  funeral, 
the  coffin  of  Napoleon  was  transferred  from 
the  catafalque  in  the  centre  of  the  church 
to  a  chapelle  ardente  in  the  basement  at  one 
side.  The  chapel  was  richly  draped  in  silk 
and  gold,  and  hung  with  trophies.  On  the 
coffin  lay  the  imperial  crown,  the  emperor's 
sword,  and  the  hat  which  he  had  worn  at 
Eylau,  and  which  he  had  given  to  Gros 
when  he  ordered  the  battle  of  Eylau 
painted.  Over  the  coffin  waved  the  flags 
taken  at  Austerlitz. 

Here  Napoleon's  body  lay  until  the 
mausoleum  was  finished.  This  magnificent 
structure  was  designed  by  Visconti,  the 
eminent  architect,  who  had  also  planned 
the  entire  decorations  of  the  i5th  of  De- 
cember. Visconti  utterly  ignored  the  ap- 
propriations in  executing  the  monument, 
ordering  what  he  wanted,  regardless  of  its 
cost.  For  the  marble  from  which  Pradier 
made  the  twelve  colossal  figures  around 
the  tomb,  he  sent  to  Carrara  ;  the  porphyry 
which  was  used  to  inclose  the  coffin,  he 
obtained  in  Finland. 

In  this  magnificent  sepulchre  Napoleon 
still  sleeps.  Duroc  and  Bertrand  lie  on 
either  side  of  the  entrance  to  the  cham- 
ber, guarding  him  in  death  as  in  life  ;  and 
to  the  right  and  left  of  the  entrance  to 
the  church  are  the  tombs  of  his  brothers 
Jerome  and  Joseph.  On  the  stones  about 
him  are  inscribed  the  names  he  made  glori- 
ous ;  over  him  are  draped  scores  of  tro- 
phies ;  attending  him  are  the  veterans  of 
the  Invalides. 

"  Qu'il  dorme  en  paix  sous  cette  voute  ! 
C'est  un  casque  bien  fait,  sans  doute, 
Pour  cette  tete  de  geant."  * 

*  "  Let  him  rest  in  peace  beneath  this  dome.    It  is  a  hel- 
met made  for  a  giant's  head." 


TABLE    OF    THE 

CHARLES   BONAPARTE. 

(1746-1785-) 

MARRIED 


From  this 
\ 

i.  Joseph  (1768-1844),  married 

2d.  NAPOLEON    I.    (1769- 

1  _ 
3d.  Lucien  (1775-1840),   mar- 

4th. Marie  Anne  Elisa  (1777- 

in    1794   to   Marie  Julie 

1821),  married  : 

ried  : 

1820),  married    to    Felix 

Clary. 

(i)  Marie    Josephine     Rose 

(i)  in  1794,    Christine    Eleo- 

Bacciochi  in  1797. 

Tascher  de  la  Pagerie  in 

nore  Boyer. 

From  this  marriage  : 

1796. 

(2)  in  1802,  Madame  Jouber- 

From  this  marriage  : 

(i)  Ze"nalde  Charlotte  (iSoi- 

(2)  Marie  Louise,  Archduch- 

thon. 

(i)  Charles    Jerome    Baccio- 

1854), married  in  1832  to 

ess  of  Austria,  in  1810. 

From  first  marriage  : 

chi  (1810-1830). 

her  cousin,  Charles  Bona- 
parte, Prince  de  Canino. 

Adopted  the  first  wife's 
two  children  : 

(i)  Charlotte,  married  in  1815 
to  Prince   Mario    Gabri- 

(2)  Napoleone  Elisa,  married 
to  Count  Camerata. 

'a)  Charlotte    (1802-1839), 

elli. 

married  in  1831  Napoleon 
Louis,  her  cousin,  second 

(i)  Eugene   (1781-1824),  who 
married  the  Princess  Au- 

(2) Christine    Egypta.    mar- 
ried   in    1818    to    Count 

son  of  Louis. 

gusta  Amelia,  daughter 

Avred  Posse,  a  Swede, 

of  the  King  of  Bavaria. 

and  in  1824  to  Lord  Dud- 

From this  marriage  : 

ley  Coutts  Stuart. 

From  second  marriage  : 

(a)  Maximilian    Joseph, 
Duke  of  Leuchtenberg, 

(i)  Charles  Lucien  Jules  Lau- 
rent, Prince  of  Canino, 

who  married  in  1839  a 
daughter  of  the  Czar 

married  to  elder  daugh- 
ter of  Joseph  Bonaparte. 

(6)  Josephine,   married    in 
1823   to   Oscar    Berna- 

(Charles  Lucien  hadeight 
children  :    Joseph,    who 

*    . 

dotte,   since    King    of 
Sweden    under    the 

died  young  ;    Lucien,  a 
cardinal  in   1868  ;  Xapo- 

name  of  Charles  XIV. 

leon,   served  in    French 

(c)  Euge'nie  Hortense,  mar- 
ried in  1826  to  Prince 

army  ;  Julie,  married  to 
the  Marquis  de  Boccagi- 

Frederick    of    Hohen- 

ovine  ;    Charlotte,   who 

zollern  Hechingen. 

became  the  Countess  of 
Primoli  ;  Augusta,  after- 

(rf) Ame'lie  Augusta,  mar- 
ried in  1829  to  Dom  Pe- 
dro, Emperor  of  Brazil. 
(e)  Auguste  Charles,  mar- 

wards the  Princess  Ga- 
brielli  ;    Marie,   married 
to  Count  Campello  ;  Ba- 
thilde,  married  to  Count 

ried  in   1835  to  Donna 
Maria,  Queen  of  Portu- 

Cambace'res.) 
(a)  Lsetitia,  married    to   Sir 

gal. 
(/)  The"odeline  Lou  ise, 

Thomas  Wyse. 
(3)  Paul,  killed  in  1826. 

married  in  1841  to  Wil- 
liam,  Count   of   WUr- 

(4)  Jeanne,  died  in  1828. 
(5)  Louis  Lucien,  known  as 

temberg. 
(a)  Euge'nie  Hortense  (1783- 
1827),  married  to  Louis 
Bonaparte.    (See  Louis.) 

Prince  Lucien,  and   dis- 
tinguished as  a  writer. 
(6)  Pierre  Napoleon,  known 
as  Prince  Pierre,  married 

From  second  marriage  : 

to  a  sempstress,  and  re- 

fused to    give    her   up. 

Fran9ois  Charles  Joseph  (NA- 

The oldest  son  of  Prince 

POLEON  II.),  King  of 

Pierre  is  the  Prince  Ro- 

Rome, afterwards  Duke 

land  Bonaparte.    He 

of  Reichstadt  (1811-1832). 

would  now  be  the  chief 

of  the  House  of    Bona- 

parte, if  Lucien  had  not 

been    cut   off   from    the 

succession. 

(7)  Antoine. 

(8)  Marie,    married    to    the 

Viscount  Valentini. 

(9)  Constance,  who  took  the 

veil. 

BONAPARTE    FAMILY. 


MARIE   L^TITIA   RAMOLINO. 

(1750-1836.) 
IN   1765. 
marriage  : 


5th.  Louis  (1778-1846),  mar- 
ried in  1802  to  Euge'nie 
Hortense  de  Beauhar- 
nais,  daughter  of  Jose- 
phine. 

From  this  marriage  : 

(1)  Napoleon    Charles,  heir- 
presumptive  to  the  throne 
of  Holland,  died  in  1807. 

(2)  Charles  Napoleon  Louis, 
married  his  cousin  Char- 
lotte, daughter  of  Joseph; 
died  in  1831. 

(3)  Charles  Louis  Napoleon, 
Emperor  of  the  French 
in  1852,  under  the  title  of 
NAPOLEON   III.,  mar- 
ried in  1853  to  Euge'nie 
de  Montijo  de  Guzman, 
Countess  of  Teba. 

From  this  marriage  : 

Napoleon  Eugene  Louis  Jean 
Joseph,  Prince  Imperial, 
born  in  1856,  killed  ia 
Zululand  in  1879. 


(1780- 


6th.  Marie     Pauline 
1825),  married  : 

(1)  in  1801  to  General  Leclerc. 

(2)  in  1803  to  Prince  Camilla 

Borghese.    No  children. 


7th.  Caroline  Marie  Annon- 
ciade  (1782-1839),  married 
Joachim  Murat  in  1800. 

From  this  marriage : 

(1)  Napoleon  Achille  Charles 
Louis  Murat  (1801-1847), 
went  to  Florida,  where 
he  married  a  grandniece 
of  George  Washington. 

(2)  Laetitia  Josephe,  married 
to  the  Marquis  of  Pepoli. 

(3)  Lucien     Charles     Joseph 

Francois  Napoleon  Mu- 
rat, married  an  Ameri- 
can, a  Miss  Fraser,  in 
1827.  From  this  mar- 
riage there  were  five  chil- 
dren. 

(4)  Louise    Julie    Caroline, 
married  Count  Rospoli. 


8th.  Jerome  (1784-1860),  mar- 
ried : 

(1)  in  1803  to  Miss  Eliza  Pat- 
terson of  Baltimore ;  and 

(2)  in   1807   to  the  Princess 
Catherine    of    Wttrtem- 
berg. 

From  first  marriage  : 

Jerome  Napoleon  Bonaparte- 
Patterson  (1805-1870)  mar- 
ried in  1829  to  Miss 
Suzanne  Gay.  Two  chil- 
dren were  born  from  this 
marriage : 

(1)  Jerome  Napoleon   Bona- 
parte (1832-1893). 

(2)  Charles     Bonaparte,     at 
present  a  resident  of  Bal- 
timore. 

From  second  marriage  ; 

(1)  Jerome  Napoleon  Charles, 

who  died  in  1847. 

(2)  Mathilde  Laetitia  Wilhel- 
mine,  married  in  1840  to  a 
Russian,    Prince    Demi- 
doff,  but  separated  from 
him  ;  known  as  the  Prin- 
cess Mathilde. 

(3)  Napoleon  Joseph  Charles 
Paul,  called  Prince  Napo- 
leon, also  known  as  Plon- 
Plon,  married  in  1859  tne 
Princess  Clotilde,  daugh- 
ter of  King  Victor  Em- 
manuel of  Italy.    On  the 
ieath  of  the  Prince  Im- 
perial,  in    1879.  became 
chief  of  the  Bonapartist 
^arty.       Died    in    1891. 
Prince     Napoleon     had 
three  children : 

(a)  Napoleon  Victor  Jer- 
ome Frederick,  born 
in  1862,  called  Prince 
Victor,  and  the  present 
Head  of  the  House  of 
Bonaparte. 

tf)  Napoleon  Louis  Joseph 
Jerome. 

(r)  Marie  Laetitia  Eugenie 
Catherine  Adelaide. 


CHRONOLOGY    OF    THE    LIFE    OF     NAPOLEON 

BONAPARTE. 


AGE.    DATE. 


EVENT. 


9- 

9- 

15- 

16. 

16. 
16. 
17- 

17- 
17- 
18. 

18. 

18-19. 

19. 

19-20. 


1769.  Aug.  15. — Napoleon  Bonaparte  born 
at  Ajaccio,  in  Corsica.  Fourth  child 
of  Charles  Bonaparte  and  of  Lse- 
titia,  nee  Ramolino. 

1778.  Dec.     15. — Napoleon      embarks      for 

France  with  his  father,  his  brother 
Joseph,  and  his  uncle  Fesch. 

1779.  Jan.  i. — Napoleon  enters  the  College 

of  Autun. 

1779.  April  25. — Napoleon  enters  the  Royal 
Military  School  of  Brienne. 

1784.  Oct.  23. — Napoleon  enters   the  Royal 

Military  School  of  Paris. 

1785.  Sept.  I. — Napoleon  appointed  Second 

Lieutenant  in  the  Artillery  Regiment 
de  la  Fere. 

1785.  Oct.  29. — Napoleon  leaves  the  Mili- 
tary School  of  Paris. 

1785.  Nov.  5  to  Aug.   ii,  1786. — Napoleon 

at  Valence  with  his  regiment. 

1786.  Aug.   15  to   Sept.    20.  —  Napoleon  at 

Lyons  with  regiment. 

1786.  Oct.  17  to  Feb.  i,  1787. — Napoleon  at 

Douai  with  regiment. 

1787.  Feb.  i  to  Oct.  14. — Napoleon  on  leave 

to  Corsica. 

1787.  Oct.  15  to  Dec.  24. — Napoleon  quits 
Corsica,  arrives  in  Paris,  obtains 
fresh  leave. 


AGE.    DATE.  EVENT. 

23.  1792.  Sept.  14  to  June  11,  1793. — Napoleon 
in  Corsica  engaged  in  revolutionary 
attempts  ;  having  declared  against 
Paoli,  he  and  his  family  have  to  quit 
Corsica. 

23.  1793.  June   13  to  July  14. — Napoleon   with 

his  company  at  Nice. 

24.  1793.  Oct.  9  to  Dec.   19. — Napoleon  placed 

in  command  of  part  of  artillery  of 
army  of  Carteaux  before  Toulon, 
1 9th  Oct.;  Toulon  taken  igth  Dec. 

24.  1793.  Dec.  22. — Napoleon  nominated  pro- 
visionally General  of  Brigade  ;  ap- 
proved later ;  receives  commission, 
i6th  Feb.,  1794. 

24.  1793.  Dec.  26  to  April  i,  1794. —  Napoleon 
appointed  inspector  of  the  coast  from 
the  Rhone  to  the  Var,  on  inspection 
duty. 

24.  1794.  April    i   to   Aug.    5. — Napoleon   with 

army  of  Italy  ;  at  Genoa  I5th-2ist 

July. 

24-25.   1794.  Aug.  6  to  Aug.  20,   1794. — Napoleon 
in  arrest  after  fall  of  Robespierre. 

25.  1794.  Sept.  1410  March  29,  1795. — Napoleon 

commanding  artillery  of  an  intended 
maritime  expedition  to  Corsica. 

25-  *795-  March  27  to  May  10. — Napoleon  or- 
dered from  the  south  to  join  the 
army  in  La  Vendee  to  command  its 
artillery ;  arrives  in  Paris,  loth 
May. 


1787.  Dec.  25  to  May,  1788. — Napoleon  pro-    25-26.  1795. 

ceeds  to  Corsica  and  returns  early  in 
May. 

1788.  May  to  April  4,    1789. — Napoleon  at 

Auxonne  with  regiment. 

1789.  April  5   to   April   30.  —  Napoleon   at 

Seurre  in  command  of  a  detachment. 


1789.  May  i  to  Sept.  15. — Napoleon  at  Aux- 
onne with  regiment. 

20-21.  1789.  Sept.  i6to  June  i,  1791. — Napoleon  in 
Corsica. 

71-22.  1791.  June  2  to  Aug.  29. — Napoleon  joins 
the  Fourth  Regiment  of  Artillery  at 
Valence  as  First  Lieutenant. 

22.  1791.  Aug.  30. — Napoleon  starts  for  Corsica 

on  leave  for  three  months ;  quits 
Corsica  May  2,  1792,  for  France, 
where  he  has  been  dismissed  for  ab- 
sence without  leave. 

23.  1792.  Aug.  30. — Napoleon  reinstated. 


June  13. — Napoleon  ordered  to  join 
Hoche's  army  at  Brest,  to  command 
a  brigade  of  infantry  ;  remains  in 
Paris  ;  2ist  Aug. ,  attached  toComite 
de  Salut  Public  as  one  of  four  ad- 
visers ;  1 5th  Sept.,  struck  off  list  of 
employed  generals  for  disobedience 
of  orders  in  not  proceeding  to  the 
west. 


26.  1795.  Oct.  5  (i3th  Vendemiaire,  Jour  des 
Sections). — Napoleon  defends  the 
Convention  from  the  revolt  of  the 
Sections. 

26.  1795.  Oct.  16. — Napoleon  appointed  provis- 
ionally General  of  Division. 

26.  1795.  Oct.  26. — Napoleon  appointed  General 
of  Division  and  Commander  of  the 
Army  of  the  Interior  (i.e.,  of  Paris). 

26.  1796.  March  2. — Napoleon  appointed  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  of 
Italy  ;  gth  March,  marries  Josephine 
Tascher  de  la  Pagerie. 


CHRONOLOGY  OF   THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.    247 


AGE.    DATE.  EVENT. 

26.   1796.  .March  n,  leaves  Paris  for  Italy. 

26.  1796.  First  Italian  campaign  of  Napoleon 
against  Austrians  under  Beaulieu, 
and  Sardinians  under  Colli.  Battle 
of  Montenotte,  I2th  April ;  Mille- 
simo,  I4th  April  ;  Dego,  I4th  and 
1 5th  April  ;  Mondovi,  22d  April ; 
Armistice  of  Cherasco  with  Sardin- 
ians, 28th  April  ;  Battle  of  Lodi,  icth 
May  ;  Austrians  beaten  out  of  Lom- 
bardy,  and  Mantua  besieged. 

26.  1796.  July  and  Aug. — First  attempt  of  Aus- 

trians to  relieve  Mantua  ;  battle  of 
Lonato,  3ist  July  ;  Lonato  and  Cas- 
tiglione,  3d  Aug. ;  and,  again,  Cas- 
tiglione,  5th  and  6th  Aug. ;  Wurmser 
beaten  off,  and  Mantua  again  in- 
vested. 

27.  1796.  Sept. — Second  attempt  of  Austrians  to 

relieve  Mantua  ;  battle  of  Calliano, 
4th  Sept. ;  Primolano,  7th  Sept. ; 
Bassano,  8th  Sept.;  St.  Georges, 
1 5th  Sept.;  Wurmser  driven  into 
Mantua  and  invested  there. 

27.  1796.  Nov. — Third  attempt  of  Austrians  to 
relieve  Mantua  ;  battles  of  Caldiero, 
nth  Nov.,  and  Arcola,  15th,  i6th, 
and  I7th  Nov.;  Alvinzi  driven  off. 

27.  1797.  Jan. — Fourth  attempt  to  relieve  Man- 
tua ;  battles  of  Rivoli,  I4th  Jan., 
and  Favorita,  i6th  Jan.;  Alvinzi 
again  driven  off. 

27.  1797.  Feb.  2. — Wurmser  surrenders  Mantua 
with  eighteen  thousand  men. 

27.  1797.   March  10. — Napoleon  commences  his 

advance  on  the  Archduke  Charles  ; 
beats  him  at  the  Tagliamento,  i6th 
March  ;  i8th  April,  provisional 
treaty  of  Leoben  with  Austria. 

28.  1797.  Oct.    17. — Treaty   of    Campo   Formio 

between  France  and  Austria  to  re- 
place that  of  Leoben  ;  Venice  par- 
titioned, and  itself  now  falls  to  Aus- 
tria. 

28.  1798.  Egyptian  expedition.  Napoleon  sails 
from  Toulon,  igth  May ;  takes 
Malta,  1 2th  June  ;  lands  near  Alex- 
andria, ist  July  ;  Alexandria  taken, 
2d  July ;  battle  of  the  Pyramids, 
2ist  July  ;  Cairo  entered,  23d  July. 

28.  1798.  Aug.  i. — Battle  of  the  Nile. 

29.  1799.    March  3. — Napoleon  starts  for  Syria  ; 

7th  March,  takes  Jaffa  ;  i8th  March, 
invests  St.  Jean  d'Acre  ;  i6th  April, 
battle  of  Mount  Tabor ;  22d  May, 
siege  of  Acre  raised  ;  Napoleon 
reaches  Cairo,  I4th  June. 

29.  1799.  July  25. — Battle  of   Aboukir  ;    Turks 

defeated. 

30.  1799.   Aug.  22. — Napoleon  sails  from  Egypt ; 

lands  at  Frejus,  6th  Oct. 

30.  1799.  Nov.  9  and  10  (i8th  and  igth  Bru- 
maire). — Napoleon  seizes  power. 

30.  1799.  Dec.  25. — Napoleon,  First  Consul  ; 
Cambaceres,  Second '  Consul ;  Le- 
brun,  Third  Consul. 


AGE.    DATE. 


EVENT. 


30.  1800.   May  and  June. — Marengo  campaign. 

I4th  June,  battle  of  Marengo;  armis- 
tice signed  by  Napoleon  with  Melas, 
1 5th  June. 

31.  1800.   Dec.  24  (3d  Nivose). — Attempt  to  as- 

sassinate Napoleon  by  infernal  ma- 
chine. 

31.  1801.  Feb.  9. — Treaty  of  Luneville  between 
France  and  Germany. 

31.  1801.  July  15. — Concordat  with  Rome. 

32.  1801.  Oct.    I. — Preliminaries   of    peace    be- 

tween France  and  England  signed 
at  L'ondon. 

32.  1802.  Jan.  26. — Napoleon  Vice-President  of 
Italian  Republic. 

March  27. — Treaty  of  Amiens. 

May  19. — Legion  of  Honor  instituted  ; 
carried  out,  I4th  July,  1814. 

Aug.  4. — Napoleon  First  Consul  for 
life. 

May. — War  between  France  and  Eng- 
land. 

March  5. — Civil  Code  (later,  Code  Na- 
poleon) decreed. 

March  21. — Due  d'Enghien  shot  at 
Vincennes. 

May  18. — Napoleon,  Empereur  des 
Franfais  ;  crowned,  2d  Dec. 

Ulm  campaign.  25th  Sept.,  Napoleon 
crosses  the  Rhine  ;  I4th  Oct. ,  bat- 
tle of  Elchingen  ;  2oth  Oct.,  Mack 
surrenders  Ulm. 

Oct.  21. — Battle  of  Trafalgar. 

Dec.  2. — Russians  and  Austrians  de- 
feated at  Austerlitz. 

Dec.  26. — Treaty  of  Presburg. 
July   i. — Confederation   of  the  Rhine 
formed  ;  Napoleon  protector. 

37.  1806.  Jena  campaign  with  Prussia.  Battles 
of  Jena  and  of  Auerstadt,  I4th  Oct. ; 
Berlin  occupied,  25th  Oct. 

Nov.  21. — Berlin  decrees  issued. 


32. 

1802. 

32. 

1802. 

32. 

1802. 

33- 

1803. 

33- 

1803. 

34- 

1804. 

34-35- 

1804. 

36. 

1805. 

36. 
36. 

36. 
36. 


37. 

37- 

37- 
38. 


1805. 
1805. 

1805. 
1806. 


1806. 
1807. 

1807. 
1807. 


Feb.  8. — Battle  of  Eylau  with  Rus- 
sians, indecisive  ;  I4th  June,  battle 
of  Friedland,  decisive. 

July  7. — Treaty  of  Tilsit. 

Oct.  27. — Secret  treaty  of  Fontaine- 
bleau  between  France  and  Spain  for 
the  partition  of  Portugal. 

38.  1808.   March.  —  French     gradually     occupy 

Spain  ;  Joseph  Bonaparte  trans- 
ferred from  Naples  to  Spain  ;  re- 
placed at  Naples  by  Murat. 

39.  1808.  Sept.   27  to  Oct.    14. — Conferences  at 

Erfurt  between  Napoleon,  Alexan- 
der, and  German  sovereigns. 

39.  1808.  Nov.  and  Dec. — Napoleon  beats  the 
Spanish  armies  ;  enters  Madrid  ; 
marches  against  Moore,  but  sud- 
denly returns  to  France  to  prepare 
for  Austrian  campaign. 


248    CHRONOLOGY  OF   THE  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


AGE.    DATE. 


EVENT. 


39.  1809.  Campaign  of  Wagram.     Austrians  ad- 

vance, loth  April  ;  Napoleon  occu- 
pies Vienna,  I3th  May  ;  beaten  back 
at  Essling,  22d  May  ;  finally  crosses 
Danube,  4th  July,  and  defeats  Aus- 
trians at  Wagram,  6th  July. 

40.  1809.  Oct.  14. — Treaty  of  Schonbrunn  or  of 

Vienna. 

40.   1809.  Dec.  15-16. — Josephine  divorced. 

40.  1810.  April    I    and    2.— Marriage  of  Napo- 

leon, aged  40,  with  Marie  Louise, 
aged  1 8  years  3  months. 

41.  1810.  Dec.    13. — Hanseatic    towns    and    all 

northern  coast  of  Germany  annexed 
to  French  Empire. 


41.  1811. 

42-43.  1812. 

43.  1812. 

43.  1812. 


March  20. — The  King  of  Rome,  son 
of  Napoleon,  born. 

June  23. — War  with  Russia  ;  Napo- 
leon crosses  the  Niemen  :  yth  Sept., 
battle  of  Moskwa  or  Borodino  ;  Na- 
poleon enters  Moscow,  isth  Sept.; 
commences  his  retreat,  igth  Oct. 

Oct.  22-23. — Conspiration  of  General 
Malet  at  Paris. 


Nov.  26-28. — Passage  of  the  Bere- 
sina  ;  5th  Dec.,  Napoleon  leaves  his 
army  ;  arrives  at  Paris,  i8th  Dec. 

43-44.  1813.  Leipsic  campaign.  2d  May,  Napo- 
leon defeats  Russians  and  Prussians 
at  Ltitzen  ;  and  again,  on  2Oth-2ist 
May,  at  Bautzen  ;  26th  June,  inter- 
view of  Napoleon-  and  Metternich  at 
Dresden  ;  roth  Aug.,  midnight,  Aus- 
tria joins  the  allies  ;  26th-2yth  Aug. , 
Napoleon  defeats  allies  at  Dresden, 
but  Vandamme  is  routed  at  Kulm 
on  3Oth  Aug.,  and  on  i6th-igth 
Oct.,  Napoleon  is  beaten  at  Leipsic. 

44.  1814.  Allies  advance  into  France  ;  2gthjan., 
battle  of  Brienne  ;  ist  Feb.,  battle 
of  La  Rothiere. 

44.  1814.  Feb.  5  to  March  18. — Conferences  of 
Chatillon  (sur  Seine). 

44.  1814.  Feb.  n. — Battle  of  Montmirail ;  I4th 
Feb.,  of  Vauchamps  ;  i8th  Feb.,  of 
Montereau. 


AGE. 
44- 

44. 


DATE. 


EVENT. 


44- 
44- 


45- 


45- 


45- 


45-46. 


51  yrs, 
8  mos. 


1814.  March  7. — Battle  of  Craon  ;  gth-ioth 
March,  Laon ;  2Oth  March,  Arcis 
sur  1'Aube. 

1814.  March  21. — Napoleon  commences  his 
march  to  throw  himself  on  the  com- 
munications of  the  allies  ;  25th 
March,  allies  commence  their  march 
on  Paris  ;  battle  of  La  Fere  Champe- 
noise,  Marmont  and  M order  beaten  ; 
28th  March,  Napoleon  turns  back 
at  St.  Dizier  to  folknv  allies  ;  2gth 
March,  empress  and  court  leave 
Paris. 

1814.  March  30. — Paris  capitulates  ;  allied 
sovereigns  enter  on  ist  April. 

1814.  April  2. — Senate  declares  the  dethrone- 
ment of  Napoleon,  who  abdicates, 
conditionally,  on  4th  April,  in  favor 
of  his  son,  and  unconditionally  on 
6th  April ;  Marmont's  corps  marches 
into  the  enemy's  lines  on  5th  April ; 
on  nth  April,  Napoleon  signs  the 
treaty  giving  him  Elba  for  life ;_ 
2Oth  April,  Napoleon  takes  leave  of 
the  Guard  at  Fontainebleau ;  3d 
May,  Louis  XVIII.  enters  Paris ; 
4th  May,  Napoleon  lands  in  Elba. 

1814.  Oct.  3. — Congress  of  Vienna  meets  for 

settlement  of  Europe  ;  actually  opens 
3d  Nov. 

1815.  Feb.  26. — Napoleon  quits  Elba  ;  lands 

near  Cannes,  ist  March  ;  igth 
March,  Louis  XVIII.  leaves  Paris  ; 
2oth  March,  Napoleon  enters  Paris. 

1815.  June  1 6. — Battle  of  Ligny  and  Quatre 
Bras  ;  i8th  June,  battle  of  Water- 
loo. 

1815.  June  29. — Napoleon  leaves  Malmaison 
for  Rochefort ;  surrenders  to  Eng- 
lish, 1 5th  July  ;  sails  for  St.  Helena, 
8th  Aug. ;  arrives  at  St.  Helena, 
1 5th  Oct. 

?•  1821.  May  5. — Napoleon  dies,  5.45  P.M.; 
buried,  8th  May. 

1840.  Oct.  15. — Body  of  Napoleon  disen- 
tombed; embarked  in  the  "Belle 
Poule,"  commanded  by  the  Prince 
de  Joinville,  son  of  Louis  Philippe, 
on  i6th  Oct. ;  placed  in  the  Inva- 
lides,  1 5th  Dec.,  1840. 


THE    END. 


BISMARCK    IN    1894. 

From  a  photograph  by  Karl  Hahn,  Munict 
(See  Page  25.) 


HUMAN    DOCUMENTS 


PORTRAITS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 
OF  EMINENT  MEN 


ARTICLES  BY  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON,  HERBERT 
SPENCER,  PROFESSOR  DRUMMOND,  EDWARD  EVER- 
ETT HALE,  H.  H.  BOYESEN,  GEN.  HORACE  PORTER, 
HAMLIN  GARLAND,  ROBERT  BARR  AND  OTHERS 


WITH     275    ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW    YORK 

THE    S.    S.   McCLURE    CO. 

141-155  E.   25TH   STREET 
1896 


COPYRIGHT.  1893,  BY 
S,  S.  McCLURE,  LIMITED 

COPYRIGHT,  1894,  BY 
S.  S.  McCLURE,  LIMITED 


COPYRIGHT,  1895,  BY 
S    S.  McCLURE,  LIMITED 

COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY 
THE   S.  S.   McCLURE   CO. 


INTRODUCTION. 


BY  SARAH  ORNE 


TO  give  to  the  world  a  collection  of  the 
successive  portraits  of  a  man  is  to  tell 
his  affairs  openly,  and  so  betray  intimate 
personalities.  We  are  often  found  quarrel- 
ling with  the  tone  of  the  public  press,  be- 
cause it  yields  to  what  is  called  the  public 
demand  to  be  told  both  the  private  affairs 
of  noteworthy  persons  and  the  trivial  details 
and  circumstances  of  those  who  are  insignifi- 
cant. Some  one  has  said  that  a  sincere  man 
willingly  answers  any  questions,  however 
personal,  that  are  asked  out  of  interest,  but 
instantly  resents  those  that  have  their  im- 
pulse in  curiosity  ;  and  that  one's  instinct 
always  detects  the  difference.  This  I  take 
to  be  a  wise  rule  of  conduct ;  but  beyond 
lies  the  wider  subject  of  our  right  to  possess 
ourselves  of  personal  information,  although 
we  have  a  vague  remembrance,  even  in 
these  days,  of  the  belief  of  old-fashioned 
and  decorous  people,  that  subjects,  not  per- 
sons, are  fitting  material  for  conversation. 

But  there  is  an  honest  interest,  which  is 
as  noble  a  thing  as  curiosity  is  contempti- 
ble ;  and  it  is  in  recognition  of  this,  that 
Lowell  writes  in  the  largest  way  in  his 
"  Essay  on  Rousseau  and  the  Sentimental- 
ists." 

"  Yet  our  love  of  minute  biographical  de- 
tails," he  says,  "  our  desire  to  make  our- 
selves spies  upon  the  men  of  the  past,  seems 
so  much  of  an  instinct  in  us,  that  we  must 
look  for  the  spring  of  it  in  human  nature, 
and  that  somewhat  deeper  than  mere  curi- 
osity or  love  of  gossip."  And  more  em- 
phatically in  another  paragraph  :  "  The 
moment  he  undertakes  to  establish  .  .  . 
a  rule  of  conduct,  we  ask  at  once  how  far 
are  his  own  life  and  deed  in  accordance  with 
what  he  preaches  ? " 

This  I  believe  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  even 
our  insatiate  modern  eagerness  to  know  the 
best  and  the  worst  of  our  contemporaries ; 
it  is  simply  to  find  out  how  far  their  behavior 
squares  with  their  words  and  position.  We 
seldom  stop  to  get  the  best  point  of  view, 
either  in  friendly  talk  or  in  a  sober  effort,  to 
notice  the  growth  of  character,  or,  in  the 
widest  way,  to  comprehend  the  traits  and 
influence  of -a  man  whose  life  in  any  way 
affects  our  own. 


Now  and  then,  in  an  old  picture  gallery, 
one  comes  upon  the  grouped  portraits  of  a 
great  soldier,  or  man  of  letters,  or  some  fine 
lady  whose  character  still  lifts  itself  into 
view  above  the  dead  level  of  feminine  con- 
formity which  prevailed  in  her  time.  The 
blurred  pastel,  the  cracked  and  dingy  can- 
vas, the  delicate  brightness  of  a  miniature 
which  bears  touching  signs  of  wear — from 
these  we  piece  together  a  whole  life's  his- 
tory. Here  are  the  impersonal  baby  face  ; 
the  domineering  glance  of  the  schoolboy, 
lord  of  his  dog  and  gun  ;  the  wan-visaged 
student  who  was  just  beginning  to  confront 
the  serried  ranks  of  those  successes  which 
conspired  to  hinder  him  from  his  duty  and 
the  fulfilment  of  his  dreams ;  here  is  the 
mature  man,  with  grave  .reticence  of  look 
and  a  proud  sense,  of  achievement ;  and  at 
last  the  older  and  vaguer  face,  blurred  and 
pitifully  conscious  of  fast  waning  powers. 
As  they  hang  in  a  row  they  seem  to  bear 
mute  witness  to  all  the  successes  and  failures 
of  a  life. 

This  very  day,  perhaps,  you  chanced  to 
open  a  drawer  and  take  in  your  hand,  for 
amusement's  sake,  some  old  family  da- 
guerreotypes. It  is  easy  enough  to  laugh 
at  the  stiff  positions  and  droll  costumes  ; 
but  suddenly  you  find  an  old  likeness  of 
yourself,  and  walk  away  with  it,  self-con- 
sciously, to  the  window,  with  a  pretence  of 
seeking  a  better  light  on  the  quick-reflect- 
ing, faintly  impressed  plate.  Your  earlier, 
half-forgotten  self  confronts  you  seriously  ; 
the  youth  whose  hopes  you  have  disap- 
pointed, or  whose  dreams  you  have  turned 
into  realities.  You  search  the  young  face  ; 
perhaps  you  even  look  deep  into  the  eyes 
of  your  own  babyhood  to  discover  your 
dawning  consciousness  ;  to  answer  back  to 
yourself,  as  it  were,  from  the  known  and 
discovered  countries  of  that  baby's  future. 
There  is  a  fascination  in  reading  character 
backwards.  You  may  or  may  not  be  able 
easily  to  revive  early  thoughts  and  impres- 
sions, but  with  an  early  portrait  in  your 
hand  they  do  revive  again  in  spite  of  you  ; 
they  seem  to  be  living  in  the  pictured  face 
to  applaud  or  condemn  you.  In  these  old 
pictures  exist  our  former  selves.  They 


VI 


INTRODUCTION. 


wear  a  mystical  expression.  They  are  still 
ourselves,  but  with  unfathomable  eyes  star- 
ing back  to  us  out  of  the  strange  remoteness 
of  our  outgrown  youth. 

"  Surely  I  have  known  before 

Phantoms  of  the  shapes  ye  be — 
Haunters  of  another  shore 
'Leaguered  by  another  sea." 

It  is  somehow  far  simpler  and  less  start- 
ling to  examine  a  series  of  portraits  of  some 
other  face  and  figure  than  one's  own.  Per- 
haps it  is  most  interesting  to  take  those  of 
some  person  whom  the  whole  world  knows, 
and  whose  traits  and  experiences  are  some- 
what 'comprehended.  You  say  to  yourself, 
"  This  was  Nelson  before  ever  he  fought 
one  of  his  great  sea  battles  ;  this  was  Wash- 
ington, with  only  the  faintest  trace  of  his 
soldiering  and  the  leisurely  undemanding 
aspect  of  a  country  gentleman  !  "  Human 
Documents — the  phrase  is  Daudet's,  and 
tells  its  own  story,  with  no  need  of  addi- 
tional attempts  of  suggestiveness. 

It  would  seem  to  be  such  an  inevitable 
subject  for  sermon  writing,  that  no  one 
need  be  unfamiliar  with  warnings,  lest  our 
weakness  and  wickedness  leave  traces  upon 
the  countenance — awful,  ineffaceable  hiero- 
glyphics, that  belong  to  the  one  universal 
primitive  language  of  mankind.  Who  can- 
not read  faces?  The  merest  savage,  who 
comprehends  no  written  language,  glances 
at  you  to  know  if  he  may  expect  friendli- 
ness or  enmity,  with  a  quicker  intelligence 
than  your  own. 

The  lines  that  are  written  slowly  and 
certainly  by  the  pen  of  character,  the  deep 
mark  that  sorrow  once  left,  or  the  light 
sign-manual  of  an  unfading  joy,  there  they 
are  and  will  remain  ;  it  is  at  length  the 
aspect  of  the  spiritual  body  itself,  and  be- 
longs to  the  unfolding  and  existence  of  life. 
We  have  never  formulated  a  science  like 
palmistry  on  the  larger  scale  that  this  char- 
acter-reading from  the  face  would  need  ; 
but  to  say  that  we  make  our  own  faces,  and, 
having  made  them,  have  made  pieces  of 
immortality,  is  to  say  what  seems  trite 
enough.  A  child  turns  with  quick  impa- 
tience and  incredulity  from  the  dull  admo- 
nitions of  his  teachers,  about  goodness  and 
good  looks.  To  say,  "  Be  good  and  you 
will  be  beautiful,"  is  like  giving  him  a  stone 
for  a  \antern.  Beauty  seems  an  accident 
rather  than  an  achievement,  and  a  cause 


instead  of  an  effect  ;  but  when  childhood 
has  passed,  one  of  the  things  we  are  sure 
to  have  learned,  is  to  read  the  sign-language 
of  faces,  and  to  take  the  messages  they 
bring.  Recognition  of  these  things  is  sure 
to  come  to  us  more  and  more  by  living  ; 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  turning  our  faces 
into  unbetraying  masks.  A  series  of  por- 
traits is  a  veritable  Human  Document,  and 
the  merest  glance  may  discover  the  prog- 
ress of  the  man,  the  dwindled  or  developed 
personality,  the  history  of  a  character. 

These  sentences  are  written  merely  as 
suggestions,  and  from  the  point  of  view  of 
morals  ;  there  is  also  the  point  of  view  of 
heredity,  and  the  curious  resemblance  be- 
tween those  who  belong  to  certain  pro- 
fessions. Just  what  it  is  that  makes  us 
almost  certain  to  recognize  a  doctor  or  a 
priest  at  first  glance  is  too  subtle  a  question 
for  discussion  here.  Some  one  has  said 
that  we  usually  arrive,  in  time,  at  the  oppo- 
site extreme  to  those  preferences  and  opin- 
ions which  we  hold  in  early  life.  The  man 
who  breaks  away  from  conventionalities, 
ends  by  returning  to  them,  or  out  of  narrow 
prejudices  and  restrictions  grows  towards  a 
late  and  serene  liberty.  These  changes 
show  themselves  in  the  face  with  amazing 
clearness,  and  it  would  seem  also,  that  even 
individuality  sways  us  only  for  a  time  ;  that 
if  we  live  far  into  the  autumnal  period  of 
life  we  lose  much  of  our  individuality  of 
looks,  and  become  more  emphatically  mem- 
bers of  the  family  from  which  we  spring. 
A  man  like  Charles  the  First  was  already 
less  himself  than  he  was  a  Stuart  ;  we  should 
not  fail  in  instances  of  this  sort,  nor  seek 
far  afield.  The  return  to  the  type  compels 
us  steadily  ;  at  last  it  has  its  way.  Very 
old  persons,  and  those  who  are  dangerously 
ill,  are  often  noticed  to  be  curiously  like 
their  nearest  of  kin,  and  to  have  almost 
visibly  ceased  to  be  themselves. 

All  time  has  been  getting  our  lives  ready 
to  be  lived,  to  be  shaped  as  far  as  may  be 
by  our  own  wills,  and  furthered  by  that  con- 
scious freedom  that  gives  us  to  be  ourselves. 
You  may  read  all  these  in  any  Human  Doc- 
ument—the look  of  race,  the  look  of  family, 
the  look  that  is  set  like  a  seal  by  a  man's 
occupation,  the  look  of  the  spirit's  free  or 
hindered  life,  and  success  or  failure  in  the 
pursuit  of  goodness — they  are  all  plain  to 
see.  If  we  could  read  one  human  face 
aright,  the  history  not  only  of  the  man,  but 
of  humanity  itself,  is  written  there. 


NOTE.— The  above  paper  originally  introduced  series  of  portraits  publisbed  in  McCn/RE's  MAGAZINE.  As  these  por- 
traits form  a  large  part  of  the  contents  of  the  present  volume,  the  paper  may  very  aptly  introduce  it  too,  although  the 
author,  in  writing,  did  not  have  in  contemplation  the  biographical  studies  with  which  the  portraits  are  here  combined. — 
EDITOR. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 

A  DAY  WITH  GLADSTONE.     H.  W.  Massingham .3 

PORTRAITS  OF  GLADSTONE 12 

PORTRAITS  OF  BISMARCK        ...........  25 

PERSONAL  TRAITS  OF  GENERAL  GRANT.     General  Horace  Porter  37 

PORTRAITS  OF  GENERAL  GRANT             .         .         .         .         .         .         •     ''»'•  45 

SOME  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GENERAL  SHERMAN.     S.  H.  M.  Byers       .  61 

PROFESSOR  JOHN  TYNDALL.     Heibett  Spencer      ...         ....  73 

MR.  DANA  OF  "  THE  SUN."     Edward  P.  Mitchell 81 

PORTRAIIS  OF  CHARLES  A.    DANA 105 

MY  FIRST  BOOK — "TREASURE  ISLAND."     Robert  Louis  Stevenson       .         .         .  in 

PORTRAITS  OF  ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON     .         .        .        .                 .        .        .  122 

AN  AFTERNOON    WITH    OLIVER  WENDELL   HOLMES.      Edward    Everett    Hale     .  127 

PORTRAITS  OF  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  136 

HOWELLS  AND   BOYESEN.     A  Conversation.     Recorded  by  Professor  Boyesen     .  140 

PORTRAITS  OF  W.   D.   HOWELLS      .         ...         ......  148 

PORTRAITS  OF  PROFESSOR  H.   H.  BOYESEN 150 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY.     A  Conversation  with  Hamlin  Garland.     Recorded  by 

Mr.  Garland      .........                  ...  152 

A  MORNING  WITH  BRET  HARTE.     Henry  J.  W.  Dam 165 


viii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  TRILBY."     Robert  H.  Sherard  .         .        .        .        .        .        .178 

A.  CONAN  DOYLE  AND  ROBERT  BARR.    A  Conversation.    Recorded  by  Mr.  Barr     189 

EUGENE    FIELD    AND    HAMLIN  GARLAND.     A  Conversation.     Recorded  by  Mr. 

Garland  ..............     201 

PORTRAITS  OF  EUGENE  FIELD        .        .         .        .        ...         .         .        .  210 

PORTRAITS  OF  DWIGHT  LYMAN  MOODY        ........  212 

MR.   MOODY:  SOME  IMPRESSIONS  AND  FACTS.     Professor  Henry  Drummond      .'  213 

PORTRAITS  OF  PROFESSOR  HENRY  DRUMMOND      .......  232 

PORTRAITS  OF  GEORGE  W.  CABLE .......         ,        .  235 

PORTRAITS  OF  ALPHONSE  DAUDET        ....      y|      ....  237 

ALPHONSE  DAUDET  AT  HOME.     Robert  H.  Sherard       .  .         .         .         .  239 

The  articles  and  pictures  in  this  volume  are  reproduced,  for  the  most  part,  from  numbers  of  McCLURErs  MAGAZINE 
between  June,  1893,  and  May,  1895. 


MR.    GLADSTONE    IN    1891.      AGE    Si. 

Mi.  Gladstone  is  standing  in  the  Gothic   porchway  of   Sir  Arthur-  Hayter's  house  at  Tintagel,  Cornwall.    From  a 
photograph  by  Frederick  Argall,  Truro,  Cornwall. 


HUMAN   DOCUMENTS. 


A    DAY    WITH    GLADSTONE. 

FROM  THE  MORNING  AT  HAWARDEN  TO  THE  EVENING  AT  THE  HOUSE 

OF  COMMONS. 


BY  H.  W.  MASSINGHAM  OF  THE  "LONDON  CHRONICLE." 


I    AM  often  asked 
what    is    the 
secret    of    Mr. 
Gladstone's  ex- 
traordinary length 
of  days  and  of  the 
perfection 
of  his  un- 


rily  varied  life  is  accompanied  by  a  certain 
rigidity  of  personal  habit  I  have  never  seen 
surpassed.  The  only  change  old  age  has 
witnessed  has  been  that  the  House  of  Com- 
mons work  has  been  curtailed,  and  that  Mr. 
Gladstone  has  not  of  late  vears  been  seen 


varying 
health.  It 
may  be 
partly  at- 
tributed 
to  the  re- 
markable 
longevity 
of  the 
Gladstone 
family,  a 

hardy  Scottish  stock   with   fewer 

weak    shoots   and   branches  than 

perhaps  any  of  the  ruling  families 

of  England.     But  it  has  depended 

mainly  on  Mr.  Gladstone  himself 

and  on  the  undeviating  regularity 

of  his  habits.  Most  English  states- 
men have  been  either  free  livers 

or  with  a  touch  of  the  bon  vivant 

in  them.     Pitt  and  Fox  were  men 

of  the  first  character  ;  Melbourne, 

Palmerston,and  Lord  Beaconsfield 

were  of  the  last.  But  Mr.  Glad- 
stone is  a  man  who  has  been  guilty 

of  no    excesses,  save   perhaps    in 

work.     He  rises  at  the  same  hour 

every    day,  uses    the  same  fairly 

generous,    but    always    carefully 

regulated,  diet,  goes  to  bed  about 

the  same  hour,  pursues  the  same 

round  of  work  and  intellectual  and 

social   pleasure.     An  extraordina- 

This  paper,  written  when  Mr.  Gladstone,  still  Prime  Minister  of  England,  was  in  the  very  hottest  of  the  battle 
for  Home  Rule  for  Ireland,  describes  the  round  of  his  daily  life  at  what  is  the  most  significant  and  dramatic  moment 
of  all  his  long  career. — EDITOR. 


MRS.    W.    E.    GLADSTONE. 

From  a  photograph  by  Barraud,  London. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


in  the  House  after  the  dinner  hour,  which 
lasts  from  eight  till  ten,  except  on  nights 
when  crucial  divisions  are  expected.  With 
the  approach  of  winter  and  its  accompany- 
ing chills,  to  which  he  is  extremely  sus- 
ceptible, he  seeks  the  blue  skies  and  dry 
air  of  the  Mediterranean  coasts  and  of  his 
beloved  Italy.  With  this  exception  his  life 
goes  on  in  its  pleasant  monotony.  At 
Hawarden,  of  course,  it  is  simpler  and  more 
private  than  in  London.  In  town  to- 
day Mr.  Gladstone  avoids  all  large 
parties  and  great  crushes  and  gather- 
ings where  he  may  be  expected  to  be 
either  mobbed  or  bored  or  detained 
beyond  his  usual  bed-time. 

HIS    PERSONALITY. 

Personally    Mr.    Gladstone   is  an 
example    of  the   most  winning,  the 
most  delicate,  and  the  most  minute 
courtesy.     He  is  a  gentleman  of  the 
elder  English  school,  and  his  man- 
ners are  grand  and  urbane,  always 
stately,    never    condescending,    and 
genuinely  modest.     He  affects  even 
the  dress  of  the  old  school,  and  I 
have  seen  him  in  the  morning  wear- 
ing an  old  black  evening  coat  such 
as     Professor    Jowett    still    affects. 
The  humblest  passer-by  in  Piccadil- 
ly, raising  his  hat  to  Mr.  Gladstone, 
is  sure  to  get  a   sweeping  salute  in 
return.     This  courtliness  is  all   the 
more  remarkable  because  it  accom- 
panies and  adorns  a  very  strong  tem- 
per, a  will  of  iron,  and  a  habit   of 
being  regarded  for  the  greater  part 
of  his  lifetime  as  a  personal  force  of 
unequalled  magnitude.    Yet  the  most 
foolish,  and  perhaps  one  may  add  the 
most  impertinent,  of  Mr.  Gladstone's 
dinner-table  questioners    is  sure  of 
an  elaborate   reply,   delivered   with 
the  air  of  a  student  in  deferential 
talk  with  his  master.     To  the  cloth 
Mr.    Gladstone   shows  a   reverence 
that  occasionally  woos  the  observer 
to  a  smile.     The  callowest  curate  is  sure  of 
a  respectful  listener  in   the  foremost  Eng- 
lishman of  the  day.     On  the  other  hand,  in 
private  conversation  the  premier  does  not 
often  brook  contradiction.     His  temper  is 
high,  and  though,  as  George  Russell  has 
said,  it  is  under  vigilant  control,  there  are 
subjects  on  which  it  is  easy  to  arouse  the 
old  lion.     Then  the  grand  eyes  flash,  the 
torrent  of  brilliant  monologue  flows  with 
more  rapid  sweep,  and  the  dinner  table  is 
breathless  at  the  spectacle  of  Mr.   Glad- 


stone angry.  As  to  his  relations  with  his 
family,  they  are  very  charming.  It  is  a 
pleasure  to  hear  Herbert  Gladstone — his 
youngest,  and  possibly  his  favorite  son — 
speak  of  "my  father."  All  of  them,  sons 
and  daughters,  are  absolutely  devoted  to 
his  cause,  wrapped  up  in  his  personality, 
and  enthusiastic  as  to  every  side  of  his 
character.  Of  children  Mr.  Gladstone  has 
always  been  fond,  and  he  has  more  than 
one  favorite  among  his  grandchildren. 


GLADSTONE   SETTING   OUT   ON    HIS    MORNING    WALK    HOME    FROM    CHURC 
•       AT    HAWARDEN. 

MR.  GLADSTONE'S  MORNING. 

Mr.  Gladstone's  day  begins  about  7:30, 
after  seven  hours  and  a  half  of  sound, 
dreamless  sleep,  which  no  disturbing  crisis 
in  public  affairs  was  ever  known  to  spoil. 
At  Hawarden  it  usually  opens  with  a  morn- 
ing walk  to  church,  with  which  no  kind  of 
weather — hail,  rain,  snow,  or  frost — is  ever 
allowed  to  interfere.  In  his  rough  slouch 
hat  and  gray  Inverness  cape,  the  old  man 
plods  sturdily  to  his  devotions.  To  the 


A  DAY   WITH  GLADSTONE. 


THE    LIBRARY   AT    HAWARDEN. 


rain,  the  danger  of  sitting  in  wet  clothes, 
and  small  troubles  of  this  kind,  he  is  abso- 
lutely impervious,  and  Mrs.  Gladstone's 
solicitude  has  never  availed  to  change  his 
lifelong  custom  in  this  respect.  Breakfast 
over,  working  time  commences.  I  am 
often  astonished  at  the  manner  in  which 
Mr.  Gladstone  manages  to  crowd  his  al- 
most endlessly  varied  occupations  into  the 


forenoon,  for  when 
he  is  in  the  country 
he  has  practically 
no  other  continuous 
and  regular  work- 
time.  Yet  into  this 
space  he  has  to  con- 
dense his  enormous 
correspondence — 
for  which,  when  no 
private  secretary  is 
available,  he  seeks 
the  help  of  his  sons 
and  daughters — his 
political  work,  and 
his  varied  literary 
pursuits.  The  ex- 
planation of  this  ex- 
treme orderliness  of 
mind  is  probably  to 
be  found  in  his  un- 
equalled habit  of 
concentration  oh 

the  business   before  him.      As   in  matters 
of  policy,  so  in  all  his  private  habits,  Mr. 
Gladstone    thinks   of    one    thing   and    of 
one  thing  only  at  a  time.     When  Home 
Rule  was  up,  he  had  no  eyes  or  ears  for 
any  subject  but  Ireland,  of  course  except 
ing  his  favorite  excursions  into  the  twin 
subjects  of  Homer  and  Christian  theology 
Enter  the  room   when   Mr.   Gladstone   is 


THE   GLADSTONE    FAMILY. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


reading  a  book  ;  you  may  move  noisily 
about  the  chamber,  ransack  the  books  on 
the  shelves,  stir  the  furniture,  but  never 
for  one  moment  will  the  reader  be  conscious 
of  your  presence.  At  Downing  Street, 
during  his  earlier  ministries,  these  hours  of 
study  were  often,  I  might  say  usually,  pre- 
ceded by  the  famous  breakfast  at  which 
the  celebrated  actor  or  actress,  the  rising 
poet,  the  well-known  artist,  the  diplomatist 
halting  on  his  way  from  one  station  of  the 
kingdom  to  another,  were  welcome  guests. 
Madame  Bernhardt,  Miss  Ellen  Terry, 


ever,  Sir  Andrew  Clark,  Mr.  Gladstone's 
favorite  physician  and  intimate  friend,  has 
recommended  that  tree-felling  be  given 
over;  and  now  Mr.  Gladstone's  recreation, 
in  addition  to  long  walks,  in  which  he  still 
delights,  is  that  of  lopping  branches  off 
veterans  whose  trunks  have  fallen  to 
younger  arms. 

AS    A    READER. 

Between   the  afternoon   tea  and  dinner 
the  statesman    usually  retires    again,  and 


. 

Ll'.NCH    AT   HAWARDEN. 


Henry   Irving,    Madame    Modjeska,   have 
all  assisted  at  these  pleasant  feasts. 


HIS    AFTERNOON. 

Lunch  with  Mr.  Gladstone  is  a  very  sim- 
ple meal,  which  neither  at  Hawarden  nor 
Downing  Street  admits  of  much  form  or 
publicity.  The  afternoon  which  follows  is 
a  very  much  broken  and  less  regular  period. 
At '  Hawarden  a  portion  of  it  is  usually 
spent  out  of  doors.  In  the  old  days  it  was 
devoted  to  the  felling  of  some  giant  of  the 
woods.  Within  the  last  few  years,  how- 


gets  through  some  of  the  lighter  and  more 
agreeable  of  his  intellectual  tasks.  He 
reads  rapidly,  and  I  think  I  should  say 
that,  especially  of  late  years,  he  does  a 
good  deal  of  skipping.  If  a  book  does  not 
interest  him,  he  does  not  trouble  to  read  it 
through.  He  uses  a  rough  kind  of  memoria 
technica  to  enable  him  to  mark  passages 
with  which  he  agrees,  from  which  he  dis- 
sents, which  he  desires  to  qualify,  or  which 
he  reserves  for  future  reference.  I  should 
say  the  books  he  reads  most  of  are  those 
dealing  with  theology,  always  the  first  and 
favorite  topic,  and  the  history  of  Ire- 


A   DAY   WITH   GLADSTONE. 


MR.    GLADSTONE    ON    HIS   WAY   TO    THE    HOVSE    OF   COMMONS. 


land  before  and  after  the  Act  of 
Indeed,  everything  dealing 
with  that  memorable  period 
is  greatly  treasure  1.  I  re- 
member one  hasty  glance 
over  Mr.  Gladstone's  book 
table  in  his  own  house.  In 
addition  to  the  liberal  week- 
ly, "  The  Speaker,"  and  a 
few  political  pamphlets,  there 
were,  I  should  say,  fifteen  or 
twenty  works  on  theology, 
none  of  them,  so  far  as  I  could 
see,  of  first-rate  importance. 
Of  science  Mr.  Gladstone 
knows  little,  and  it  cannot 
be  said  that  his  interest  in  it 
is  keen.  He  belongs,  in  a 
word,  to  the  old-fashioned 
Oxford  ecclesiastical  school, 
using  the  controversial  weap- 
ons which  are  to  be  found  in 
the  works  of  Pusey  and  of 
Hurrell  Froude.  In  his  read- 
ing, when  a  question  of  more 
minute  and  out-of-the-way 
scholarship  arises,  he  appeals 
to  his  constant  friend  and  as- 
sistant, Lord  Acton,  to  whose 
profound  learning  he  bows 
with  a  deference  which  is  very 
touching  to  note. 

Mr.  Gladstone's  library  is 
not    what    can    be    called    a 


Union. 


select  or  really  first-rate  collection.  It 
comprises  an  undue  proportion  of  theo- 
logical literature,  of  which  he  is  a  large 
and  not  over-discriminating  buyer.  I 
doubt,  indeed,  whether  there  is  any  larger 
private  bookbuyer  in  England.  All  the 
booksellers  send  him  their  catalogues,  es- 
pecially those  of  rare  and  curious  books. 
I  have  seen  many  of  these  lists,  with  a 
brief  order  in  Mr.  Gladstone's  own  hand- 
writing on  the  flyleaf,  with  his  tick  against 
twenty  or  thirty  volumes  which  he  desires 
to  buy.  These  usually  range  round  classi- 
cal works,  archasology,  special  periods  of 
English  history,  and,  above  all,  works  rec- 
onciling the  Biblical  record  with  science. 


THE     LIBRARY    AT     HAWARDEN MR.    GLAD- 
STONE   AS    A    BUYER    OF    BOOKS. 

Of  late,  as  is  fairly  well  known,  Mr.  Glad- 
stone has  built  himself  an  octagonal  iron 
house  in  Hawarden  village,  a  mile  and  a 
half  from  the  castle,  for  the  storage  of  his 
specially  valuable  books  and  a  collection 
of  private  papers  which  traverse  a  good 
many  of  the  state  secrets  of  the  greater 


THE    STAIRCASE,    HAWARDEN    CASTLE. 

From  a  photograph  by  G.  W.  Webster,  Chester,  England, 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


part  of  the  century.  The  importance  of 
these  is  great,  and  the  chances  are  that  be- 
fore Mr.  Gladstone  dies  they  will  all  be 
grouped  and  indexed  in  his  upright,  a  little 
crabbed,  but  perfectly  plain  handwriting. 
By  the  way,  a  great  many  statements  have 
been  made  about  Mr.  Gladstone's  library, 


sand  or  so  are  now  distributed  between 
the  little  iron  house  to  which  I  have  re- 
ferred, and  the  Hawarden  library.  Cu- 
riously enough,  Mr.  Gladstone  is  not  a 
worshipper  of  books  for  the  sake  of  their 
outward  adornments.  He  loves  them  for 
what  is  inside  rather  than  outside.  He 


and  I  may  as  well  give  the  facts,  which 
have  never  before  been  made  public.  His 
original  library  consisted  of  about  twenty- 
four  thousand  volumes.  In  the  seventies, 
however,  he  parted  with  his  entire  collec- 
tion of  political  works,  amounting  to  some 
eight  thousand  volumes,  to  the  late  Lord 
Wolverton.  The  remaining  fifteen  thou- 


• 


even  occasionally  sells  extremely  rare  and 
costly  editions  for  which  he  has  no  special 
use.  In  all  money  matters,  indeed,  he  is  a 
thrifty,  orderly  Scotchman.  He  has  never 
been  rich,  though  his  affairs  have  greatly 
improved  since  the  time  when  in  his  first 
premiership  he  had  to  sell  his  valuable  col- 
lection of  china. 


A   DAY   WITH  GLADSTONE. 


AT    THE    DINNER    TABLE. 


healthy  appetite  of  a  man  of  thirty.  A 
glass  of  champagne  is  agreeable  to  him, 
and  if  he  does  not  take  his  glass  or  two  of 

Dinner  with  Mr.  Gladstone  is  the  stately    port  at  dinner,  he  makes  it  up  by  two  or 
ceremonial  meal  which  it  has  become  to    three  glasses  of  claret,  which  he  considers 


*"*"  .Z™.-  --  •• '>,--.<•/••  V.-, :-•*-'  *,'£"/.*; "-  -  '       ~r--j.  •—,-*  )*  •-/>. 

-,.S||,  'v^;^ 

(  /'/'«//    r  ;_i  W'lfi'  •  *-• 

"  'v  *;?&?// 


HAWAKUEN    CASTLE. 


the  upper-middle-class  Englishman.  Mr. 
Gladstone  invariably  dresses  for  it,  wear- 
ing the  high  crest  collar  which  Harry  Fur- 
niss  has  immortalized,  and  a  cutaway  coat 
which  strikes  one  as  of  a  slightly  old-fash- 
ioned pattern.  His  digestion  never  fails 
him,  and  he  eats  and  drinks  with  the 


an  equivalent.  Oysters  he  never  could  en- 
dure ;  but,  like  Schopenhauer  and  Goethe 
and  many  another  great  man,  he  is  a  con- 
sistently hearty  and  unfastidious  eater. 
He  talks  much  in  animated  monologue, 
though  the  common  complaint  that  he 
monopolizes  the  conversation  is  not  a  just 


MR.    GLADSTONE  S    BEDROOM    AT   HAWARDEN    CASTLE. 

From  a  photograph  by  G.  W.  Webster,  Chester,  England. 


10 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


one.  You  cannot  easily  turn  Mr.  Glad- 
stone into  a  train  of  ideas  which  does  not 
interest  him,  but  he  is  a  courteous  and  even 
eager  listener  ;  and  if  the  subject  is  of 
general  interest,  he  does  not  bear  in  it  any 
more  than  the  commanding  part  which  the 
rest  of  the  company  invariably  allows  him. 
His  speaking  voice  is  a  little  gruffer  and 
less  musical  than  his  oratorical  notes, 
which,  in  spite  of  the  invading  hoarseness, 
still  at  times  ring  out  with  their  old  clear- 
ness. As  a  rule  he  does  not  talk  on  poli- 
tics. On  ecclesiastical  matters  he  is  a 


can  meet  an  old  friend  or  two,  and  see  a 
young  face  which  he  may  be  interested  in 
seeing.  One  habit  of  his  is  quite  unvary- 
ing. He  likes  to  walk  home,  and  to  walk 
home  alone.  He  declines  escort,  and  slips 
away  for  his  quiet  stroll  under  the  stars,  or 
even  through  the  fog  and  mist,  on  a  Lon- 
don winter's  night.  Midnight  usually 
brings  his  busy,  happy  day  to  a  close. 
With  sleeplessness  he  has  never  been  at  all 
bothered,  and  at  eighty-three  his  nights 
are  as  dreamless  and  untroubled  as  those 
of  a  boy  of  ten. 


THE    MORNING-ROOM   AT   HAWARDEN    CASTLE. 

From  a  photograph  by  G.  W.  Webster,  Chester,  England. 


never  wearied  disputant.  Poetry  has  also 
a  singular  charm  for  him,  and  no  modern 
topic  has  interested  him  more  keenly  than 
the  discussion  as  to  Tennyson's  successor 
to  the  laureateship.  I  remember  that  at  a 
small  dinner  at  which  I  recently  met  him, 
the  conversation  ran  almost  entirely  on  the 
two  subjects  of  old  English  hymns  and 
young  English  poets.  His  favorite  reli- 
gious poet  is,  I  should  say,  Cardinal  New- 
man, and  his  favorite  hymn,  Toplady's 
"  Rock  of  Ages,"  of  which  his  Latin  ren- 
dering is  to  my  mind  far  stronger  and 
purer  than  the  original  English.  When  he 
is  in  town,  he  dines  out  almost  every  day, 
though,  as  I  have  said,  he  eschews  formal 
and  mixed  gatherings,  and  affects  the 
small  and  early  dinner  party  at  which  he 


IN    THE    HOUSE. 

His  afternoons  when  in  town  and  during- 
the  season  are,  of  course,  given  up  pretty 
exclusively  to  public  business  and  the 
House  of  Commons,  which  he  usually 
reaches  about  four  o'clock.  He  goes  by  a 
side  door  straight  to  his  private  room,, 
where  he  receives  his  colleagues, and  hears, 
of  endless  questions  and  motions,  which 
fall  like  leaves  in  Vallombrosa  around  the 
head  of  a  prime  minister.  Probably  steps 
will  be  taken  to  remove  much  of  this  irk- 
some and  somewhat  petty  burden  from  the 
shoulders  of  the  aged  minister.  But  leader 
Mr.  Gladstone  must  and  will  be  at  eighty- 
three,  quite  as  fully  as  he  was  at  sixty.  In- 
deed, the  complaint  of  him  always  has  beea 


A   DAY   WITH   GLADSTONE. 


ii 


that  he  does  too  much,  both  for  his  own 
health  and  the  smooth  manipulation  of  the 
great  machine  which,  as  was  once  re- 
marked, creaks  and  moves  rather  lumber- 
ingly  under  his  masterful  but  over-minute 
guidance.  During  the  last  two  or  three 
years  it  has  been  customary  for  the  Whigs 
to  so  arrange  that  Mr.  Gladstone  speaks 
early  in  the  evening.  He  is  not  always 
able  to  do  this  while  the  Home  Rule  Bill  is 
under  discussion,  but  I  do  not  think  he  will 
ever  again  find  it  necessary  to  follow  the 
entire  course  of  a  Parliamentary  debate. 
He  never  needed  to  do  as  much  listening 
from  the  Treasury  Bench  as  he  was  wont 
to  do  in  his  first  and  second  ministries.  I 
do  not  think  that  any  prime  minister  ever 
spent  half  as  much  time  in  the  House  of 
Commons  as  did  Mr.  Gladstone  ;  certainly 
no  one  ever  made  one-tenth  part  as  many 
speeches.  Indeed,  it  requires  all  Mrs. 
Gladstone's  vigilance  to  avert  the  physical 
strain  consequent  upon  overwork.  With 
this  purpose  she  invariably  watches  him  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  from  a  corner 
seat  in  the  right  hand  of  the  Ladies'  Gal- 
lery, which  is  always  reserved  for  her  and 
which  I  have  never  known  her  to  miss 
occupying  on  any  occasion  of  the  slightest 
importance. 

SPEECH-MAKING. 

I  have  before  me  two  or  three  examples 
of  notes  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  speeches  ;  one 
of  them  refers  to  one  of  the  most  import- 
ant of  his  addresses  on  the  customs  ques- 
tion. It  was  a  long  speech,  extending,  if 
I  remember  rightly,  to  considerably  over 
an  hour.  Yet  the  memoranda  consist 
purely  of  four  or  five  sentences  of  two  or 
three  words  apiece,  written  on  a  single 
sheet  of  note  paper,  and  no  hint  of  the 
course  of  the  oration  is  given.  Occasion- 
ally, no  doubt,  especially  in  the  case  of  the 
speech  on  the  introduction  of  the  Home 
Rule  Bill,  which  was  to  my  mind  the  finest 
Mr.  Gladstone  has  ever  delivered,  the  notes 
were  rather  more  extensive  than  this,  but 
as  a  rule  they  are  extremely  brief.  When 
Mr.  Gladstone  addresses  a  great  public 
meeting,  the  most  elaborate  pains  are  taken 


to  insure  his  comfort.  He  can  now  only 
read  the  very  largest  print, and  careful  and 
delicate  arrangements  are  made  to  provide 
him  with  lamps  throwing  the  light  on  the 
desk  or  table  near  which  he  stands.  Sir 
Andrew  Clark  observes  the  most  jealous 
watchfulness  over  his  patient.  A  curious 
instance  of  this  occurred  at  Newcastle, 
when  Mr.  Gladstone  was  delivering  his 
address,  to  the  great  liberal  caucus  which 
assembles  as  the  annual  meeting  of  the 
National  Liberal  Federation.  Sir  Andrew 
had  insisted  that  the  orator  should  confine 
himself  to  a  speech  lasting  only  an  hour. 
Fearing  that  his  charge  would  forget  all 
about  his  promise  in  the  excitement  of 
speaking,  the  physician  slipped  onto  the 
platform  and  timed  Mr.  Gladstone,  watch 
in  hand.  The  hour  passed,  but  there  was 
no  pause  in  the  torrent  of  words.  Sir 
Andrew  was  in  despair.  At  last  he  pen- 
cilled a  note  to  Mr.  Morley,  beseeching 
him  to  insist  upon  the  speech  coming  to  an 
end.  But  Mr.  Morley  would  not  undertake 
the  responsibility  of  cutting  a  great  ora- 
tion, and  the  result  w,as  that  Mr.  Glad- 
stone stole  another  half  hour  from  time 
and  his  physician.  The  next  day  a  friend 
of  mine  went  breathlessly  up  to  Sir  An- 
drew, and  asked  how  the  statesman  had 
borne  the  additional  strain.  "  He  did  not 
turn  a  hair,"  was  the  reply.  Practically 
the  only  sign  of  physical  failure  which  is 
apparent  in  recent  speeches  has  been  that 
the  voice  tends  to  break  and  die  away  after 
about  an  hour's  exercise,  and  for  a  moment 
the  sound  of  the  curiously  veiled  notes  and 
a  glance  at  the  marble  pallor  of  the  face 
gives  one  the  impression  that  after  all  Mr. 
Gladstone  is  a  very,  very  old  man.  But 
there  is  never  anything  like  a  total  break- 
down. And  no  one  is  aware  of  the  enor- 
mous stores  of  physical  energy  on  which 
the  prime  minister  can  draw,  who  has  not 
sat  quite  close  to  him,  and  measured  the 
wonderful  breadth  of  his  shoulders  and 
heard  his  voice  coming  straight  from  his 
chest  in  great  boufffas  of  sound.  Then  you 
forget  all  about  the  heavy  wrinkles  in 
the  white  face,  the  scanty  silver  hair,  and 
the  patriarchal  look  of  the  figure  before 
you. 


PORTRAITS    OF    GLADSTONE. 


MR.  GLADSTONE  was  born  at  Liver- 
pool, December  29,  1809.  He  has 
been  a  member  of  the  House  of  Commons 
almost  continuously  since  1832  ;  and  when 
he  resigned  the  office  of  prime  minister 
last  year,  on  account  of  his  advanced  age, 
he  was  serving  in  it  for  the  fourth  time. 
His  first  premiership  extended  from  Decem- 
ber, 1868,  to  February,  1874;  the  second, 
from  April,  1880,  to  June,  1885  ;  the  third, 
from  February  to  August,  1886  ;  and  the 
fourth,  from  August,  1892,  to  March,  1894. 
Here  are  nearly  thirteen  years ;  and  as 
a  prime  minister  retires  the  moment  the 
country  is  not  with  him,  they  tell  in  a  word 
what  a  power  Mr.  Gladstone  has  been. 

It  would  be  strange  if,  in  a  political  career 
of  upwards  of  sixty  years,  Mr.  Gladstone 
had  shown  no  changes  of  opinion.  To 
several  of  the  measures  with  which  his  name 


is  particularly  identified,  as,  for  example, 
Home  Rule  for  Ireland,  he  has  come  by 
slow  and  cautious  degrees  and  with  almost  a 
complete  turn  on  himself.  He  entered  Par- 
liament, indeed,  as  a  Conservative,  and  the 
first  prime  minister  under  whom  he  held 
office  was  Sir  Robert  Peel.  It  was  not 
until  1851  that  he  parted  company  com- 
pletely with  the  Conservatives.  The  next 
year,  1852,  he  achieved  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  oratorical  triumphs  of  his  whole 
career.  Parliament  was  debating  a  budget 
presented  by  Mr.  Disraeli,  and  Disraeli 
made  in  defence  of  his  measure  a  speech  of 
such  cleverness  and  power  that  friend  and 
foe  alike  thought  it  to  be  unanswerable.  At 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  Mr.  Gladstone 
began  a  reply.  Long  before  he  finished 
he  had  completely  dissipated  the  impression 
left  by  Disraeli  and  had  captured  the  House. 


GLADSTONE   AT  THREE    YEARS   OF   AGE,    WITH    HIS   SISTER. 

From  a  miniature. 


PORTRAITS  OF  GLADSTONE. 


From  a  painting  by  George  Hayter,  reproduced  by  the  kind  permission  of  Sir  John  Gladstone,  Bart. 
This  year  Mr.  Gladstone  had  just  entered  Lincoln's  Inn  as  a  student  of  law,  and  was  serving  his  first 
months  in  Parliament,  having  received  his  first  election  in  December,  1832. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


3LAUSTONE    It 


From  a  life  portrait  by  Bradley.    At  this  time  Mr.  Gladstone  was  of  the  Opposition  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  acting  under  the  leadership  of  Sir  Robert  Peel. 


PORTRAITS  OF   GLADSTONE. 


MK.    GLADSTONE    IN    1841.      AGE   31. 

From  a  photograph,  by  Fradelle  &  Young,  London,  of  a  chalk  drawing  by  W.  B.  Richmond.      In  1841  Mr.  Glad- 
stone entered  the  cabinet  as  Vice-President  of  the  Board  of  Trade  and  Master  of  the  Mint. 


GLADSTONE    IN    1852.      AGE   42. 

From  a  photograph  by  Samuel   A.  Walker,  London.     In  1852  Mr.  Gladstone  became  for  the  first  time  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer,  an  office  for  which  he  has  many  times  proved  unequalled  fitness. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MR.    GLADSTONE    IN    1859.      AGE  49- 

From  a  photograph  by  Samuel  A.  Walker,  London.    This  year,  under  Lord  Palmerston,  Mr.  Gladstone  became  a 
sernnd  time  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer. 


MR.    GLADSTONE    IN    1865.      AGE   55. 

From  a  photograph  by  Samuel  A.  Walker,  London, 


PORTRAITS  OF  GLADSTONE. 


MR.    GLADSTONE    IN    1865.      AGE   55. 

From  a  photograph  by  Frederick  Hollyer,  London,  of  a  portrait  painted  by  Sir  G.  F.  Watts.     It  was  the  latter 
part  of  1865,  on  the  death  of  Lord  Palmerston,  that  Mr.  Gladstone  first  became  leader  of  the  House  of  Commons 


Jtf 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MR.    GLADSTONE    IN 


From  a  photograph  by  Samuel  A.  Walker,  London.    June  18, 1866,  Mr.  Gladstone,  then  in  his  first  experience  as  leader 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  suffered  defeat  on  a  reform  bill,  by  the  Tories  under  Disraeli. 


MR.    GLADSTONE    IN 


From  a  photograph  by  Samuel  A.  Walker,  London.    In  1868  Mr.  Gladstone  secured  the  defeat  of  the  Disraeli  ministry 
on  the  disestablishment  of  the  Irish  Church,  and  himself  became  prime  minister  for  the  first  time. 


PORTRAITS   OF   GLADSTONE. 


MR.    GLADSTONE    IN    It 


AGE   70. 


From  a  photograph  by  Samuel  A.  Walker,  London.  This  year  the  Liberals  recovered  a  lost  majority 
in  Parliament,  Mr.  Gladstone  himself  making  a  famous  campaign,  and  securing  election  by  a  famous 
majority,  in  Midlothian.  Disraeli  (now  Lord  Beaconsfield)  and  his  cabinet  resigned,  and  Mr.  Gladstone 
again  became  prime  minister. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MU.    GLADSTONE   AND    HIS   GRANDSON   (SON    OF   HIS   ELDEST   SON,    THE   LATE   W.    H.    GLADSTONE).       1890.      AGE   80. 

From  a  portrait  painted  by  McClure  Hamilton,  and  presented  by  the  ladies  of  England,  Scotland,  Wales,  and 
Ireland  to  Mrs.  Gladstone  as  a  souvenir  of  hers  and  Mr.  Gladstone's  golden  wedding,  celebrated  the  year  before 
(1889). 


PORTRAITS   OF  GLADSTONE. 


21 


.  MR.    GLADSTONE    IN    1890.      AGE   80. 

After  a  painting  by  John  Colin  Forbes,  R.  C.  A.    Reproduced  by  the  kind  permission  of  Henry  Graves  &  Co.,  London. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MR.    GLADSTONE   AT   83,    WITH    HIS   GRANDDAUGHTER   DOROTHY   DREW. 

From  a  photograph  by  Valentine  &  Sons,  Dundee,  taken  at  Hawarden  (Mr.  Gladstone's  country  home), 
October  13,  1893.  At  this  time  Parliament  was  adjourned  for  a  month  or  two  after  long  and  excited  debates 
on  the  subject  of  Home  Rule  for  Ireland.  . 


PORTRAITS  OF  GLADSTONE. 


MR.    GLADSTONE,    HAWARDEN,    OCTOBER    13,    1893.      AGE  83. 

From  a  photograph  by  Valentine  &  Sons,  Dundee. 


24 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MR.    GLADSTONE,    HAWARDEN,    AUGUST,    1894.      AGE   84. 

From  a  photograph  by  Robinson  &  Thompson,  Liverpool  and  Birkenhead. 


PORTRAITS    OF    BISMARCK. 


PRINCE  OTTO  EDWARD  LEOPOLD 

VON  BISMARCK  was  born  April  i, 
1815,  of  a  very  old  and  sturdy  German  fam- 
ily. He  was  put  early  to  school,  attended 
several  universities,  and  served  his  term  in 
the  army.  His  political  life  began  in  1846, 
when  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  diet 
of  "hns  province,  Saxony.  The  next  year 
he  went  to  Berlin  as  a  representative  in  the 
General  Diet,  and  immediately  attracted 
attention  by  the  force  and  boldness  of  his 
speeches.  In  1851  he  began  his  diplomatic 
career  as  secretary  to  the  Prussian  member 
of  the  representative  Assembly  of  German 
Sovereigns  at  Frankfort.  He  has  been  de- 
scribe'd  at  this  time  as  "  of  very  tall,  stalwart, 
and  imposing  mien,  with  blue  gray,  pene- 
trating, fearless  eyes ;  of  a  bright,  fresh 
countenance,  with  blond  hair  and  beard." 
In  1859  he  was  sent  as  ambassador  to 
Russia.  In  1862  he  was  transferred  to 
Paris  ;  but  a  few  months  later  he  was  made 
minister  of  foreign  affairs.  He  inaugu- 
rated his  ministry  by  the  summary  dissolu- 
tion of  the  Prussian  Chamber  of  Deputies, 


because  it  refused  to  pass  the  budget  pro- 
posed by  the  throne,  curtly  informing  the 
body  that  the  king's  government  would  be 
obliged  to  do  without  its  sanction.  Five 
times  the  deputies  were  dismissed  in  this 
fashion.  Bismarck  was  denounced  on  all 
sides  ;  but  as  his  profound  project,  already 
conceived,  of  uniting  the  German  states 
into  .a  compact  empire,  with  Prussia  at  the 
head,  advanced,  by  one  brilliant  stroke  of 
statesmanship  after  another,  toward  fulfil- 
ment, the  early  distrust  was  forgotten,  and  he 
became,  in  spite  of  his  apparent  contempt  for 
popular  rights,  a  popular  idol.  The  short, 
sharp  war  of  1866,  terminating  Austrian 
dominance  in  Germany,  began  a  national 
progress,  under  Bismarck's  sagacious  and 
strong  direction,  which  came  to  its  consum- 
mation at  the  close  of  the  war  with  France, 
when,  on  January  18,  1871,  in  the  palace  of 
the  French  kings,  at  Versailles,  William  I., 
King  of  Prussia,  was  proclaimed  Emperor  of 
united  Germany.  In  1890,  differences  with 
the  present  Emperor,  William  II.,  led  to 
Bismarck's  retirement  from  public  life. 


BISMARCK   IN    1834.      AGE   19. 

Student  in  the  University  of  Gottingen. 


1851.    AGE  36. 

Diplomatist  at  Frankfort.      From  a  photograph  by  A. 
Bockmann,  Strasburg. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


1854.      AGE   39.       STILL   SERVING   AT   FRANKFORT. 


1866,   THE    YEAR   OF   THE   WAR   WITH    AUSTRIA.      AGE  51. 


PORTRAITS   OF  BISMARCK. 


27 


BISMARCK   IN    1871.      AGE   56. 

From  a  photograph  by  Loescher  &  Petsch,  Berlin.  On  January  18,  1871,  the  war  with  France  having 
been  brought  to  a  triumphant  close,  Bismarck  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  King  William  of  Prussia 
crowned  Emperor  of  united  Germany  in  the  palace  of  the  French  kings,  at  Versailles,  himself  becoming 
at  the  same  time  Chancellor  of  the  German  Empire.  The  formal  treaty  of  peace  with  France  was  signed 
a  month  later. 


28 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BISMARCK    IN    1871.      AGE   56. 


PROCLAIMING    WILLIAM     I.    EMPEKOR.       VERSAILLES,    JANUARY    18,  1871.        BISMARCK,    IN    WHITE    UNIFORM,    STANDS     JUST     BEFORE 
THE   THRONE.      FROM   A   PHOTOGRAPH    BY   THE    BERLIN   PHOTOGRAPH    COMPANY. 


PORTRAITS  OF  BISMARCK. 


BISMARCK    IN    1877.      AGE   62. 

On  the  eve  of  the  Congress  of  Berlin,  wherein  the  European  powers,  largely  under  Bismarck's 
guidance,  fixed  the  relations  of  Turkey.     From  a  photograph  by  Loescher  &  Petsch,  Berlin. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BISMARCK    IN    1880.      AGE   65. 

From  a  photograph  by  Ad.  Braun  &  Co.,  Paris. 


1883.      AGE   68. 

From  a  photograph  by  Loescher  and  Petsch.  Berlin 


1885.      AGE    70. 

From  a  photograph  by  Loescher  and  Petsch,  Berlin. 


PORTRAITS  OF  BISMARCK. 


BISMARCK    IN    18 


AGE   70. 


From  a  photograph  by  Loescher  &  Petsch,  Berlin.    Bismarck's  seventieth  birthday  was  celebrated 
as  a  great  national  event  in  Germany,  as  have  been  his  succeeding  birthdays. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BISMARCK    IN    1886.      AGE    71. 

From  a  photograph  taken  at  Friedrichsruh  by  A.  Bockmann,  Strasburg. 


:K  IN  1886.     AGE  71. 
From  a  photograph  by  A.  Bockmann,  LUbed 


BISMARCK   IN    1887.      AGE   J2. 

From  a  photograph  by  M.  Ziesler,  Berlin. 


PORTRAITS  OF  BISMARCK. 


33 


EMTEROR    WILLIAM    II.    AND    PRINCE    BISMARCK.       I 

From  a  photograph  by  M.  Fiesler,  Berlin. 


1889.      AGE    74. 


From  a  photograph  by  M.  Fiesler,  Berlin. 


1889.      AGE    74. 

From  a  photograph  by  Jul.  Braatz,  Berlin. 


34 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BISMARCK    IN    1890.      AGE   75. 

In  the  spring  of  this  year  Bismarck's  differences  with  William  II.  culminated  in  a  retirement  from 
office,  which  was  practically  a  dismissal,  after  a  continuous  cabinet  service  of  nearly  thirty  years.  This 
portrait  was  taken  at  Friedrichsruh  two  months  after  his  resignation.  From  a  photograph  by  A. 
Bockmann,  Strasburg. 


PORTRAITS  OF  BISMARCK. 


35 


BISMARCK   IN    1890.      AGE   75. 

From  a  copyright  photograph  owned  by  Strumper  &  Co.,  Hamburg. 


BISMARCK    IN    1891.      AGE   76. 

Greeted  by  a  body  of  students  at  Kissingen.    From  a  photograph  by  Pilartz,  Kissingen. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BISMARCK   IN    1894.      AGE   79. 

From  a  photograph  by  Karl  Hahn,  Munich. 


PERSONAL    TRAITS    OF    GENERAL    GRANT. 


BY  GENERAL  HORACE  PORTER. 


[General  Horace  Porter  served  on  General  Grant's  staff  from  the  time  Grant  took  command  of  the  army  in  the  East 
until  the  close  of  the  war.  He  was  also  Grant's  Assistant  Secretary  of  War,  and,  through  Grant's  first  term  as  President, 
his  private  secretary. — EDITOR.] 


THE  recurrence  of  General  Grant's  birth- 
day never  fails  to  recall  to  the  minds 
of  those  who  were  associated  with  him  the 
many  admirable  traits  of  his  character.  A 
number  of  these  traits,  if  not  absolutely 
peculiar  to  him,  were  more  thoroughly  de- 
veloped in  his  nature  than  in  the  natures  of 
other  men. 

His  personal  characteristics  were  always 
a  source  of  interest  to  those  who  served 
with  him,  although  he  never  seemed  to  be 
conscious  of  them  himself.  He  had  so 
little  egotism  in  his  nature  that  he  never 
took  into  consideration  any  of  his  own 
peculiarities,  and  never  seemed  to  feel  that 
he  possessed  any  qualities  different  from 
those  common  to  all  men.  He  always 
shrank  from  speaking  of  matters  personal 
to  himself,  and  evidently  never  analyzed 


his-  own  mental  powers.  In  his  intercourse 
he  did  not  appear  to  study  to  be  reticent 
regarding  himself  ;  he  appeared  rather  to 
be  unconscious  of  self.  He  was  always  calm 
and  unemotional,  yet  deeply  earnest  in  every 
work  in  which  he  engaged.  While  his  men- 
tal qualities  and  the  means  by  which  he 
accomplished  his  purposes  have  been  some- 
thing of  a  puzzle  to  philosophers,  he  was 
always  natural  in  his  manners  and  intensely 
human  in  everything  he  did. 

Among  the  many  personal  traits  which 
might  be  mentioned,  he  possessed  five 
attributes  which  were  pronounced  and  con- 
spicuous, and  stand  out  as  salient  points  in 
his  character.  They  were  Truth,  Courage, 
Modesty,  Generosity,  and  Loyalty. 

He  was,  without  exception,  the  most  ab- 
solutely truthful  man  I  ever  encountered  in 


General  J.  A.  Rawlins,  General  Grant.  Colonel  Bowers, 

Chief  of  Staff.  Assistant  Adjutant-General. 

TAKEN   AT   CITY   POINT   HEADQUARTERS    EARLY   IN    1865. 


3» 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


GENERAL    HORACE    PORTER. 

From  a  photograph  by  Pach  Brothers. 

public  or  private  life.  This  trait  may  be 
recognized  in  the  frankness  and  honesty  of 
expression  in  all  his  correspondence.  He 
was  not  only  truthful  himself,  but  he  had  a 
horror  of  untruth  in  others.  One  day  while 
sitting  in  his  bedroom  in  the  White  House, 
where  he  had  retired  to 
write  a  message  to  Con- 
gress, a  card  was  brought 
in  by  a  servant.  An  offi- 
cer on  duty  at  the  time, 
seeing  that  the  President 
did  not  want  to  be  dis- 
turbed, remarked  to  the 
servant,  "  Say  the  Presi- 
dent is  not  in."  General 
Grant  overheard  the  re- 
mark, turned  around 
suddenly  in  his  chair, 
and  cried  out  to  the  ser- 
vant, "  Tell  him  no  such 
thing.  I  don't  lie  myself, 
and  I  don't  want  any 
one  to  lie  for  me." 

When  the  President 
had  before  him  for  his 
action  the  famous  Infla- 
tion Bill,  a  member  of 
Congress  urged  him 
persistently  to  sign  it 
When  he  had  vetoed  it, 
and  it  was  found  that  the 
press  and  public  every- 


where justified  his  action,  the  Congressman 
came  out  in  a  speech  reciting  how  materially 
he  had  assisted  in  bringing  about  the  veto. 
When  the  President  read  the  report  of  the 
speech  in  the  newspapers,  he  said,  "  How 
can  So-and-so  state  publicly  such  an  un- 
truth !  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  ever  look 
me  in  the  face  again."  He  had  a  contempt 
for  the  man  ever  after.  Even  in  ordinary 
conversation  he  would  relate  a  simple  inci- 
dent which  happened  in  one  of  his  walks 
upon  the  street,  with  all  the  accuracy  of 
a  translator  of  the  new  version  of  the 
Scriptures  ;  and  if  in  telling  the  story  he 
had  said  mistakenly,  for  instance,  that  he  had 
met  a  man  on  the  south  side  of  the  avenue, 
he  would  return  to  the  subject  hours  after- 
ward to  correct  the  error  and  state  with 
great  particularity  that  it  was  on  the  north 
side  of  the  avenue  that  the  encounter  had 
taken  place.  These  corrections  and  con- 
stant efforts  to  be  accurate  in  every  state- 
ment he  made  once  led  a  gentleman  to  say 
of  him  that  he  was  "  tediously  "  truthful.  It 
has  often  been  a  question  of  ethics  in  war- 
fare whether  an  officer  is  justifiable  in  put- 
ting his  signature  to  a  false  report  or  a 
deceptive  letter  for  the  purpose  of  having  it 
fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  with  a  view 
to  misleading  him.  It  is  very  certain  that 
General  Grant  would  never  have  resorted  to 
such  a  subterfuge,  however  important  might 
have  been  the  results  to  be  attained. 

General  Grant  possessed  a  rare  and  con- 


MASSAPONAX   CHURCH,    VIRGINIA.      GRANT'S    HEADQUARTERS    IN    MAY,    1864. 
PHOTOGRAPH    BY    BRADY. 


PERSONAL    TRAITS  OF  GENERAL   GRANT. 


39 


spicuous  Courage,  which, 
seen  under  all  circumstan- 
ces, appeared  never  to  vary. 
It  was  not  a  courage  in- 
spired by  excitement ;  it 
was  a  steady  and  patient 
courage  in  all  the  scenes  in 
which  it  was  displayed.  It 
might  be  called,  more  ap- 
propriately,an  unconscious- 
ness of  danger.  He  seemed 
never  to  be  aware  of  any 
danger  to  himself  or  to  any 
person  about  him.  His 
physical  and  moral  courage 
were  both  of  the  same  high 
order.  To  use  an  Ameri- 
canism, he  was  "clean  grit." 
This  characteristic  early 
displayed  itself  in  the  nerve 
he  exhibited,  as  a  cadet  at 
West  Point,  in  breaking 
fractious  horses  in  the  rid- 
ing-hall. His  courage  was 
conspicuous  in  all  the  bat- 
tles in  Mexico  in  which  he 
was  engaged,  particularly  GRANT 

in  leading  an  attack  against 
one  of  the  gates  of  the 
City  of  Mexico,  at  the  head  of  a  dozen  men 
whom  he  had  called  on  to  volunteer  for  the 
purpose.  It  showed  itself  at  Belmont,  in 
the  gallant  manner  in  which  he  led  his 
troops,  and  in  his  remaining  on  shore  in  the 
retreat  until  he  had  seen  all  his  men  aboard 
the  steamboats.  At  Donelson  and  Shiloh, 
and  in  many  of  the  fights  in  the  Virginia 
campaign,  while  he  never  posed  for  effect, 
or  indulged  in  mock  heroics,  his  exposure 
to  danger  when  necessary,  and  his  habitual 
indifference  under  fire,  were  constantly 
noticeable.  He  was  one  of  the  few  men 
who  never  displayed  the  slightest  nervous- 
ness in  battle.  Dodging  bullets  is  by  no 
means  proof  of  a  lack  of  courage.  It  pro- 
ceeds from  a  nervousness  which  is  often 
purely  physical,  and  is  no  more  significant 
as  a  test  of  courage  than  the  act  of  winking 
when  something  is  thrown  suddenly  in  one's 
face.  It  is  entirely  involuntary.  Many  a 
brave  officer  has  been  known  to  indulge  in 
"  jack-knifing  "  under  fire,  as  it  is  called  ; 
that  is,  bending  low  or  doubling  up,  when 
bullets  were  whistling  by.  In  my  own  ex- 
perience I  can  recall  only  two  persons  who, 
throughout  a  rattling  musketry  fire,  could 
sit  in  their  saddles  without  moving  a  muscle 
or  even  winking  an  eye.  One  was  a  bugler 
in  the  regular  cavalry,  and  the  other  was 
General  Grant. 

The  day  the  outer    lines  of   Petersburg 


S   HEADQUARTERS  AT   CITY    POINT   EARLY    IN    1C 

Photograph  by   Brady. 

were  carried,  and  the  troops  were  closing  up 
upon  the  inner  lines,  the  General  halted  near 
a  house  on  a  piece  of  elevated  ground  which 
overlooked  the  field.  The  position  was  un- 
der fire,  and  the  enemy's  batteries  seemed 
to  pay  particular  attention  to  the  spot,  no- 
ticing, perhaps,  the  group  of  officers  col- 
lected there,  and  believing  that  some  of  the 
Union  commanders  were  among  them.  The 
General  was  engaged  in  writing  some  de- 
spatches, and  paid  no  attention  whatever  to 
the  shots  falling  about  him.  Members  of 
the  staff  remarked  that  the  place  was  becom- 
ing a  target,  and  suggested  that  he  move  to 
a  less  conspicuous  position,  but  he  seemed 
to  pay  no  attention  to  the  advice  given. 
After  he  had  finished  his  despatches,  and 
taken  another  view  of  the  enemy's  works, 
he  quietly  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  slowly 
to  another  part  of  the  field,  remarking  to  the 
officers  about  him,  with  a  jocose  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "  Well,  they  do  seem  to  have  the 
range  on  us." 

During  one  of  the  fights  in  front  of  Pet- 
ersburg the  telegraph-poles  had  been  thrown 
down,  and  the  twisted  wires  were  scattered 
about  upon  the  ground.  While  our  troops 
were  falling  back  before  a  vigorous  attack 
made  by  the  enemy,  the  General's  horse 
caught  his  foot  in  a  loop  of  the  wire,  and  in 
the  animal's  efforts  to  free  himself  the  coil 
became  twisted  still  tighter.  The  enemy 


4o 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


THE   McCLEAN    HOUSE    IN   APPOMATTOX,    VIRGINIA,    WHERE     GRANT  AND    LEE   MET  AND    FIXED   THE     TERMS     OF   LEE  S 

SURRENDER,    APRIL  9,    1865. 


was  moving  up  rapidly,  delivering  a  heavy 
fire,  and  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  The 
staff  officers  began  to  wear  anxious  looks 
upon  their  faces,  and  became  very  apprehen- 
sive for  the  General's  safety.  He  sat  quietly 
in  his  saddle,  giving  directions  to  an  orderly, 
and  afterward  to  an  officer  who  had  dis- 
mounted, as  they  were  struggling  ner- 
vously to  uncoil  the  wire,  and  kept  cautioning 
them  in  a  low,  calm  tone  of  voice  not  to  hurt 
the  horse's  leg.  Finally  the  foot  was  re- 
leased ;  but  none  too  quickly,  as  the  enemy 
a  few  minutes  later  had  gained  possession 
of  that  part  of  the  field. 

His  moral  courage  was  manifested  in 
many  instances.  He  took  a  grave  responsi- 
bility in  paroling  the  officers  and  men  cap- 
tured at  Vicksburg  and  sending  them  home, 
and  persons  who  did  not  understand  the 
situation  subjected  him  to  severe  criticism. 
But  he  shouldered  the  entire  responsibil- 
ity, and  subsequent  events  proved  that  he 
was  entirely  correct  in  the  action  he  had 
taken. 

It  was  supposed  at  Appomattox  that  the 
terms  he  gave  to  Lee  and  his  men  might 
not  be  approved  by  the  authorities  at  Wash- 
ington. But  without  consulting  them,  Gen- 
eral Grant  assumed  the  entire  responsibility. 
There  was  not  a  moment's  hesitation. 

Even  in  trivial  matters  he  never  seemed 
to  shrink  from  any  act  which  he  set  out  to 


perform.  The  following  incident,  though 
trifling  in  itself,  illustrates  this  trait  in  his 
character.  When  we  were  in  the  heat  of 
the  political  campaign  in  which  he  was  a 
candidate  for  the  Presidency  a  second  time, 
and  when  there  was  the  utmost  violence  in 
campaign  meetings,  and  unparalleled  abuse 
exchanged  between  members  of  the  contest- 
ing parties,  the  President  made  many  trips 
by  rail  in  New  Jersey,  where  he  was  resid- 
ing at  his  summer  home  at  Elberon.  He 
always  travelled  in  an  ordinary  passenger- 
car,  and  mingled  freely  with  all  classes  of 
people.  On  one  of  these  trips  he  said  to  me  : 
"  I  think  I  will  go  forward  into  the  smoking- 
car  and  have  a  smoke."  The  car  was  filled 
with  a  rough  class  of  men,  several  of  them 
under  the  influence  of  liquor.  The  Presi- 
dent sat  down  in  a  seat  next  to  one  of  the 
passengers.  He  was  immediately  recog- 
nized, and  his  neighbor,  evidently  for  the 
purpose  of  "  showing  off,"  proceeded  to 
make  himself  objectionably  familiar.  He 
took  out  a  cigar,  and  turning  to  the  Presi- 
dent cried  :  "  I  say,  give  us  a  light,  neigh- 
bor," and  reached  out  his  hand,  expecting 
the  President  to  pass  him  the  cigar  which 
he  was  smoking.  The  President  looked 
him  in  the  eye  calmly  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  pulled  out  a  match-box,  struck  a 
match,  and  handed  it  to  him.  Those  who 
had  been  looking  on  applauded  the  act,  and 


PERSONAL    TRAITS   OF   GENERAL    GRANT. 


the  smoker  was  silenced,  and  afterward 
became'very  respectful. 

Even  the  valor  of  his  martial  deeds  was 
surpassed  by  the  superb  courage  displayed 
in  the  painful  illness  which  preceded  his 
death.  Though  suffering  untold  torture, 
he  held  death  at  arm's  length  with  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  penned  the 
most  brilliant  chapter  in  American  history. 
His  fortune  had  disappeared,  his  family 
was  without  support,  and  summoning  to 
his  aid  all  of  his  old-time  fortitude,  he  sat 
through  months  of  excruciating  agony, 
laboring  to  finish  the  book  which  would  be 
the  means  of  saving  those  he  loved  best 
from  want.  He  seemed  to  live  entirely 
upon  his  will-power  until  the  last  lines  were 
finished,  and  then  yielded  to  the  first  foe  to 
whom  he  had  ever  surrendered — Death. 

His  extreme  Modesty  attracts  attention 
in  all  of  his  speeches  and  letters,  and  es- 
pecially in  his  "  Memoirs. "  A  distinguished 
literary  critic  once  remarked  that  that  book 
was  the  only  autobiography  he  had  ever 
read  which  was  totally  devoid  of  egotism. 
The  General  not  only  abstains  from  vaunt- 
ing himself,  but  seems  to  take  pains  to 
enumerate  all  the  good  qualities  in  which 


he  is  lacking  ;  and,  while  he  describes  in  eu- 
logistic terms  the  persons  who  were  asso- 
ciated with  him,  he  records  nothing  which 
would  seem  to  be  in  commendation  of  him- 
self. Although  his  mind  was  a  great  store- 
house of  useful  information,  the  result  of 
constant  reading  and  a  retentive  memory, 
he  laid  no  claim  to  any  knowledge  he  did 
not  possess.  He  agreed  with  Addison  that 
"pedantry  in' learning  is  like  hypociisy  in 
religion,  a  form  of  knowledge  without  the 
power  of  it."  He  had  a  particular  aversion 
to  egotists  and  braggarts.  Th*ough  fond  of 
telling  stories,  and  at  times  a  most  interest- 
ing raconteur,  he  never  related  an  anecdote 
which  was  at  all  off  color,  or  which  could 
be  construed  as  an  offence  against  modesty. 
His  stories  possessed  the  true  geometrical 
requisites  of  excellence  :  they  were  never 
too  long  and  never  too  broad. 

His  unbounded  generosity  was  at  all 
times  displayed  towards  both  friends  and 
foes.  His  unselfishness  towards  those  who 
served  with  him  is  one  of  the  chief  secrets 
of  their  attachment  to  him,  and  the  unquali- 
fied praise  he  gave  them  for  their  work  was 
one  of  the  main  incentives  to  the  efforts 
which  they  put  forth.  After  the  successes 


Colonel  Babcock. 


Colonel  Porter. 


FROM    A    PHOTOGRAPH    TAKEN    IN    1865    AT    BOSTON,    WHEN    GRANT   WAS    RECEIVING    PUBLIC    WELCOMES   THROUGHOUT  THE 

NORTH    AFTER    THE    CLOSE   OF   THE   WAR. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


in  the  West,  in  writing  to  Sherman,  he  said  : 
"  What  I  want  is  to  express  my  thanks  to 
you  and  McPherson  as  the  men  to  whom 
above  all  others  I  feel  indebted  for  what- 
ever I  have  had  of  success.  How  far  your 
advice  and  assistance  have  been  of  help  to 
me,  you  know.  How  far  your  execution 
of  whatever  has  been  given  you  to  do  en- 
titles you  to  the  reward  I  am  receiving,  you 
cannot  know  as  well  as  I." 

After  Sherman's  successful  march  to  the 
sea  there  was  a  rumor  that  Congress  in- 
tended to  create  a  lieutenant-generalship 
for  him  and  give  him  the  same  grade  as  that 
of  Grant.  By  this  means  he  would  have  be- 
come eligible  to  the  com- 
mand of  the  army.  Sherman 
wrote  at  once  to  his  com- 
mander, saying  that  he  had 
no  part  in  the  movement,  and 
should  certainly  decline  such 
a  commission  if  offered  to 
him.  General  Grant  wrote 
him  in  reply  one  of  the  most 
manly  letters  ever  penned, 
which  contained  the  follow- 
ing words  :  "  No  one  would 
be  more  pleased  with  your 
advancement  than  I ;  and  if 
you  should  be  placed  in  my 
position,  and  I  put  subordi- 
nate, it  would  not  change  our 
relations  in  the  least.  I 
would  make  the  same  exer- 
tions to  support  you  that  you 
have  ever  done  to  support 
me,  and  I  would  do  all  in  my 
power  to  make  our  cause 
win." 

When    Sherman    granted 
terms  of  surrender  to  Gen- 
eral   Joe    Johnston's   army 
which  the    government  re- 
pudiated, and  when  Stanton 
denounced  Sherman's  conduct  unsparingly, 
and  Grant  was  ordered  to  Sherman's  head- 
quarters   by    the     President    to     conduct 
further  operations  there  in  person,  the  Gen- 


hitter  in  battle  and  not  an  officer  of  brains. 
General  Grant  resented  this  with  great 
warmth,  and  immediately  took  up  the  cud- 
gels in  Sheridan's  favor.  He  said  :  "  While 
Sheridan  has  a  magnetic  influence  possessed 
by  few  men  in  an  engagement,  and  is  seen 
to  best  advantage  in  battle,  he  does  as 
much  beforehand  to  contribute  to  victory 
as  any  living  commander.  His  plans  are  al- 
ways well  matured,  and  in  every  movement 
he  strikes  with  a  definite  purpose  in  view. 
No  man  is  better  fitted  to  command  all  the 
armies  in  the  field. " 

General  Grant's  generosity  to  his  foes  will 
be  remembered  as  long  as  the  world  con- 


GRANT'S  HORSE  "JEFF  DAVIS,"  CAPTURED  ON  DAVIS'S  PLANTATION  IN  MISSISSIPPI 
Photograph  by  Brady. 


tinues  to  honor  manly  qualities.  After  the 
surrender  at  Vicksburg  he  issued  a  field 
order  saying  :  "  The  paroled  prisoners  will 
be  sent  out  of  here  to-morrow.  Instruct  the 


eral-in-chief  went  only  as  far  as  Raleigh,  commands  to  be  orderly  and  quiet  as  the 
He  remained  there  in  the  background  in-  prisoners  pass,  and  to -make  no  offensive  re- 
stead  of  going  out  to  the  front,  so  as  not  to  marks." 


appear  to  share  the  credit  of  receiving 
Johnston's  final  surrender  upon  terms  ap- 
proved by  the  government.  He  left  that 
honor  solely  to  Sherman.  He  stood  by  him 
manfully  when  his  motives  were  questioned 


In  his  correspondence  with  General  Lee, 
looking  to  the  surrender  of  the  Army  of 
Northern  Virginia,  he  said  :  "  I  win1  meet 
you,  or  designate  officers  to  meet  any 
officers  you  may  name,  for  the  purpose  of 


and  his  patriotism  unjustly  assailed.     After  arranging  definitely  terms  upon  which  the 

Sheridan  had  won  his  great  victories,  some  surrender  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia 

one  spoke  in  General  Grant's  presence  in  a  will  be  received."     He  thus  took  pains  to 

manner  which  sought  to  belittle  Sheridan  relieve  General   Lee  from  the   humiliation 

and  make  it  appear  that  he  was  only  a  hard  of  making  the  surrender  in  person,  in  case 


PERSONAL    TRAITS  OF  GENERAL   GRANT. 


43 


that  commander  chose  to  designate  another 
officer  for  the  purpose.  In  this  General 
Grant  showed  the  same  delicacy  of  feeling 
as  that  which  actuated  Washington  when 
he  spared  Cormvallis  from  the  necessity  of 
surrendering  his  army  in  person  at  York- 
town. 

After  the  surrender  at  Appomattox  our 
troops  began  to  fire  salutes.  General  Grant 
sent  orders  at  once  to  have  them  stopped, 
using  the  following  words  :  "  The  war  is 
over,  the  rebels  are  our  countrymen  again, 
and  the  best  sign  of  rejoicing  after  the 


GRANT'S  HORSE  "EGYPT,"  A  THOROUGHBRED  FROM  SOUTHERN  ILLINOIS. 
Photograph  by  Brady. 


victory  will  be  to  abstain  from  all  demon- 
strations in  the  field." 

When,  two  months  after  the  close  of  the 
war,  Lee  made  application  in  writing  to 
have  the  privileges  included  in  the  Presi- 
dent's amnesty  proclamation  extended  to 
him,  General  Grant  promptly  indorsed  his 
letter  as  follows  :  "  Respectfully  forwarded 
through  the  Secretary  of  War  to  the  Presi- 
dent, with  the  earnest  recommendation  that 
the  application  of  General  Robert  E.  Lee 
for  amnesty  and  pardon  may  be  granted 
him/'  Andrew  Johnson  was,  however,  at 
that  time  bent  upon  having  all  ex-Con- 
federate officers  indicted  for  the  crime  of 
treason,  whether  they  kept  their  paroles 
or  not,  and  a  number  of  indictments  had 


already  been  found  against  them.  In  this 
emergency  General  Lee  applied  by  letter  to 
General  Grant  for  protection,  and  he  knew 
that  such  an  application  would  not  be  in 
vain.  General  Grant  put  the  most  emphatic 
indorsement  upon  this  letter,  which  con- 
tained the  following  language  :  "  In  my 
opinion  the  officers  and  men  paroled  at 
Appomattox  Court  House,  and  since  upon 
the  same  terms  given  Lee,  cannot  be  tried 
for  treason  so  long  as  they  observe  the 
terms  of  their  parole.  .  .  .  The  action 
of  Judge  Underwood  in  Norfolk  has  already 
had  an  injurious  effect,  and 
I  would  ask  that  he  be  or- 
dered to  quash  all  indict- 
ments found  against  paroled 
prisoners  of  war,  and  to  desist 
from  further  prosecution  of 
them."  It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  this  action  was  tak- 
en when  the  country  was  still 
greatly  excited  by  the  events 
of  the  war  and  the  assassi- 
nation of  President  Lincoln, 
and  it  required  no  little 
courage  on  the  part  of  Gen- 
eral Grant  to  take  so  decided 
a  stand  in  these  matters. 

Perhaps  the  most  pro- 
nounced trait  in  General 
Grant's  character  was  that 
of  unqualified  Loyalty.  He 
was  loyal  to  every  work  and 
cause  in  which  he  was  en- 
gaged :  loyal  to  his  friends, 
loyal  to  his  family,  loyal  to 
his  country,  and  loyal  to  his 
God.  This  characteristic  pro- 
duced a  reciprocal  effect  in 
those  who  served  with  him, 
and  was  one  of  the  chief 
reasons  why  men  became  so 
loyally  attached  to  him.  It 
so  dominated  his  entire  nature  that  it  some- 
times led  him  into  error,  and  caused  him 
to  stand  by  friends  who  were  no  longer 
worthy  of  his  friendship,  and  to  trust  those 
in  whom  his  faith  should  not  have  been 
reposed.  Yet  it  is  a  trait  so  noble  that  we 
do  not  stop  to  count  the  errors  which  may 
have  resulted  from  it.  It  showed  that  he 
was  proof  against  the  influence  of  malicious 
aspersions  and  slanders  aimed  at  worthy 
men,  and  that  he  had  the  courage  to  stand 
as  a  barrier  between  them  and  their  un- 
worthy detractors,  and  to  let  generous 
sentiments  have  a  voice  in  an  age  in 
which  the  heart  plays  so  small  a  part  in 
public  life. 

It   has    been   well    said   that  "the   best 


44 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


GENERAL  GRANTS  KATHtK  AMJ  MO'JHtK. 


teachers  of  humanity  are  the  lives  of  great  will  afford  a  liberal  education  to  American 
men."  A  close  study  of  the  traits  which  youth  in  the  virtues  which  should  adorn  the 
were  most  conspicuous  in  General  Grant  character  of  a  man  in  public  life. 


PORTRAITS  OF  GENERAL  GRANT. 


AS    BREVET   SECOND    LIEUTENANT.      AGE   21. 

Taken  in  Cincinnati  in  1843,  just  after  graduation  from  West  Point. 


AS   CAPTAIN   WHILE   STATIONED    AT   SACKETT*S    HARBOR,    NEW    YORK,    1849.      AGE   27. 

From  a  very  small  miniature. 


•46 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


GENERAL   GRANT   IN   THE   AUTUMN    OF    1861.      AGE  39. 

From  a  photograph  loaned  by  Colonel  Frederick  D.  Grant. 


GENERAL   GRANT   IN    1864,    DURING   THE  CAMPAIGN    OF   THE   WILDERNESS.      AGE   42. 

Photograph  by  Brady. 


PORTRAITS  OF  GENERAL   GRANT. 


47 


TAKEN    IN    1863    BEFORE   VICKSBURG.      AGE  41. 

From  a  defective  negative. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MAY,    1864.      AGE   42.      TAKEN   AT   HEADQUARTERS   IN   THE   WILDERNESS. 

Brady,  photographer. 


PORTRAITS  OF  GENERAL   GRANT. 


49 


EARLY    IN    1865,    NEAR   THE   CLOSE    OF   THE   WAR.      AGE   43. 

From  a  spoiled  negative. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


1865.      AGE  43.      TAKEN    BY   GUTEKUNST,    PHILADELPHIA,    ON    GRANT'S   FIRST  TRIP   NORTH   AFTER  THI 


PORTRAITS  OF  GENERAL   GRANT. 


51 


1868.      AGE  46.      NOT  LONG   BEFORE    GRANT'S    FIRST   ELECTION   AS   PRESIDENT. 


1869.      AGE   47.      SOON    AFTER   GRANT'S   FIRST    INAUGURATION   AS   PRESIDENT. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


ABOUT    1870.      AGE  "48. 


PORTRAITS  OF  GENERAL   GRANT. 


53 


ABOUT    1872.      AGE    50. 

Kurtz,  photographer,  New  York. 


54 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


1873.      AGE  51.      AT   THE    BEGINNING   OF    GRANT'S   SECOND   TERM    AS    I'KESIDEM 

Brady,  photographer. 


PORTRAITS  OF  GENERAL    GRANT. 


55 


1876.      AGE    54. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


PORTRAITS  OF   GENERAL    GRANT. 


57 


GENERAL  GRANT,  MRS.  GRANT,  AND  THEIR  ELDEST  SON  COLONEL  FREDERICK  D.  GRANT. 

Taken  by  Taber  at  San  Francisco  on  Grant's  landing  from  the  voyage  around  the  world,  September  22,  1879. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


l88l.      AGE    59.      WHEN    GRANT   TOOK   UP    HIS   RESIDENCE   IN    NEW   YORK.      W.    KURTZ,    PHOTOGRAPHER. 


PORTRAITS  OF   GENERAL    GRANT. 


55 


1882.      AGE  60. 

Fredricks,  photographer,  New  York. 


6o 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


\ 


GENERAL    SHERMAN    WHEN    IN    COMMAND    OF   THE   MILITARY    DIVISION    OF   THE    MISSISSIPPI,    1866.      AGE  46. 

SOME      PERSONAL      RECOLLECTIONS      OF      GENERAL 

SHERMAN. 


BY  S.  H.  M.  BYERS. 


diary,  I  find  this  entry  : 


OW  well  I  recall  now  the 
first  time  I  ever  heard 
the  voice  of  General 
Sherman.  It  was  night, 
in  the  woods  by  the 
banks  of  the  Tennessee 
River.  On  looking 
over  my  half-faded  war 


"  November  23,  1863.  It  has  rained  all  the  day. 
The  men  have  few  rations,  the  animals  no  food  at 
all.  Thousands  of  horses  and  mules  are  lying  dead 
in  the  muddy  roads  and  in  the  woods.  We  are  a  few 
miles  below  Chattanooga,  close  to  the  river.  The 
Rebels  are  on  the  other  side.  Everybody  here  ex- 
pects a  great  battle.  Since  noon  our  colonel  got 
orders  for  us  to  be  ready  to  ferry  over  the  river  at 
midnight — no  baggage." 

It  was  very  dark  that  night  in  the  woods 
when  our  division  slipped  down  to  the 
water's  edge  and  commenced  entering  the 
pontoons. 

"  Be  as  quiet  as  possible,  and  step  into 
the  boats  rapidly,"  I  heard  a  voice  say. 

The  speaker  was  a  tall  man,  wearing  a 
long  waterproof  coat  that  covered  him  to 
his  heels.  He  stood  close  beside  me  as  he 
spoke,  and  one  of  the  boys  said  in  a  low 
voice  :  "  That  is  Sherman." 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard 


him  speak.  Though  a  great  commander,  at 
that  mojnent  leading  many  troops,  still  he 
was  down  there  in  the  dark,  personally  at- 
tending to  every  detail  of  getting  us  over 
the  river.  Shortly  our  rude  boat,  with 
thirty  people  aboard,  pushed  out  into  the 
dark  water,  and  we  were  whirled  around  by 
the  eddies,  while  expecting  every  moment 
a  blaze  of  musketry  in  our  faces  from  the 
other  shore.  But,  somehow,  we  felt  con- 
fident that  all  was  well,  for  was  not  our 
great  general  himself  close  by,  watching 
the  movement  ? 

In  the  battle  that  followed,  our  troops 
were  successful.  Sherman  was  everywhere 
along  the  front,  personally  directing  every 
movement.  He  was  sharing  every  danger, 
and  the  soldier's  fear  was  that  his  general 
might  be  killed,  and  the  battle  lost  in  con- 
sequence. 

In  the  charge  of  the  "Tunnel,"  I,  with 
many  comrades,  fell  into  the  enemy's  hands, 
and  was  taken  to  Libby  Prison.  Few  of 
those  captured  with  me  ever  got  back  North 
alive,  and  those  who  did  are  .nearly  all  long 
since  dead. 

Fifteen  months  of  terrible  experience  in 
the  prisons  of  the  South  passed.  More  than 
once  I  had  escaped,  only  to  be  retaken.  At 
last,  though,  I  did  get  away,  and 'when 


62 


HUMAN   DOCUMENTS. 


Sherman's  army,  marching  north  through 
the  Carolinas,  captured  Columbia,  they 
found  me  secreted  in  the  garret  of  a  negro's 
cabin  in  the  town. 

It  happened  that,  while  I  was  a  prisoner, 
I  had  written  some  verses  in  praise  of  the 
great  campaign  from  Chattanooga  to  the 
ocean.  The  song  found  favor  with  my 
prison  comrades.  It  also  soon  reached  the 
soldiers  in  the  North,  and,  before  I  knew 
it,  it  was  being  sung  everywhere.  It  was 
"  Sherman's  March  to  the  Sea,"  and  the 
song  soon  gave  its  name  to  the  campaign 
itself. 

As  Sherman  entered  Columbia  at  noon 
that  i;th  of  February,  1865,  riding  at  the 
head  of  his  sixty  thousand  victorious  vet- 
erans, a  soldier  ran  up  to  him,  and  told  him 
the  author  of  the  song  had  escaped,  from 
prison,  and  was  standing  near  by,  on  the 
steps  of  a  house.  He  halted  the  whole 
column,  while  he  motioned  to  me  to  come 
out,  and  warmly  shook  my  hand. 

"  Tell  all  the  prisoners  who  have  es- 
caped," said  he,  "  to  come  to  me  at  camp 
to-night.  I  want  to  do  something  for  all 
of  them.  They  must  be  made  comfort- 
able." 

The  bands  played,  and  the  vast  column 
again  moved  on  amidst  cheers  for  "  Billy" 
Sherman,  "  Johnny "  Logan,  and  other 
heroes  of  the  line.  I  looked  at  *he  battle- 
worn  flags  of  the  regiments.  I  had  not 
seen  loyal  colors  for  about  sixteen  months. 
Perhaps  I  was  weak,  but  I  am  sure  I  felt 
my  eyes  moisten  and  my  heart  bound  when 
I  looked  upon  the  very  flag  I  had  seen  in 
the  hot  charge  that  day  at  Missionary 
Ridge. 

I  did  not  go  to  the  General's  head- 
quarters that  night.  I  was  ashamed  to  go 
in  all  my  rags.  But  I  walked  the  streets 
and  saw  the  city  burned  to  ashes.  But 
Sherman  had  not  done  this.  Long  before 
the  Union  troops  entered,  I  saw  Hampton's 
Confederate  cavalry  firing  thousands  of 
bales  of  cotton  to  prevent  its  falling  into 
Union  hands.  A  fearful  wind  raged  to- 
wards morning,  and  the  flakes  of  burning 
cotton  soon  set  the  city  on  fire.  That 
night  I  heard  with  my  own  ears  South 
Carolinians  condemn  Wade  Hampton  and 
Jefferson  Davis. 

"  They  are  those  who  brought  all  this  on 
the  people  of  the  South,"  cried  one  old 
man  as  he  saw  his  home  devoured  by  the 
flames,  and  thought  of  his  sons  dead  on 
useless  battlefields. 

Later,  Wade  Hampton  was  foolish 
enough  to  publicly  attack  Sherman  for  in- 
humanity during  his  "  March." 


"  His  paper  is  for  home  consumption," 
the  General  wrote  to  me;  "but  if  he  at- 
tempts to  enlarge  his  sphere  I  will  give  him 
a  blast  of  the  truth  as  you  and  hundreds 
know  it." 

I  went  to  friends  in  my  old  brigade  the 
next  day  after  the  burning  of  the  city,  but 
to  my  surprise  General  Sherman  sent  an 
officer  to  hunt  me  up  and  bring  me  to  head- 
quarters. 

"  You  must  go,"  said  the  officer,  in  an- 
swer to  my  expressed  reluctance.  "  You 
must  ;  it  is  an  order." 

Our  meeting,  unimportant  in  itself, 
showed  the  simplicity  and  character  of 
Sherman.  It  was  in  the  woods.  The  col- 
umns had  halted  for  the  night,  and  the 
tent  of  the  General  was  pitched  at  a  lone 
spot  away  from  the  roadside.  As  was 
usual  at  army  headquarters,  an  enormous 
flag  was  suspended  between  two  trees. 
Near  by  the  horses  of  the  bodyguard  were 
picketed  to  long  ropes,  while  the  men  either 
layabout  on  the  grass  or  busied  themselves 
preparing  their  supper.  Not  far  away,  in 
the  woods  and  at  roadsides,  were  the 
bivouacs  of  the  tired  army.  I  was  but  a 
stripling  officer,  and  was  not  a  little  abashed 
at  the  idea  of  appearing  before  the  com- 
mander of  the  army.  I  found  him  sitting 
on  a  camp-stool  by  a  low  rail  fire.  He 
Avas  looking  over  some  papers. 

"  This  is  Adjutant  Byers,"  said  the 
officer. 

The  General  dropped  his  papers,  stepped 
right  over  the  fire  with  his  long  legs,  and 
seized  me  by  the  hand. 

"  I  want  to  thank  ydu  for  your  song," 
he  said,  "and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  how 
you,  there  in  prison,  got  hold  of  all  that  I 
was  doing.  You  hit  it  splendidly.  I  have 
little  for  you  to  do  here  at  headquarters. 
There  is  little  for  anybody  to  do,"  he  said 
after  awhile  (I  think  he  meant  he  did  it  all 
himself) ;  "  but  I  want  to  give  you  a  place 
on  my  staff.  You  must  take  your  meals 
with  me." 

Now,  for  a  prisoner  of  war,  just  getting 
out  of  a  horrible  pen,  a  place  on  the  com- 
mander's staff,  with  the  privilege  of  eating 
at  his  table,  was  like  getting  into  paradise. 

"  Later  you  will  get  a  horse  and  all  you 
need,"  he  went  on. 

That  moment  the  cook,  a  great  ebony- 
faced  negro,  came  up,  bowed  very  low,  and 
announced  supper.  The  General  pushed 
me  into  the  supper  tent  ahead  of  him.  The 
well-uniformed  staff  officers  were  already 
there,  assembled  about  a  long  rude  table  of 
boards.  Every  one  of  them  held  up  his 
fork  and  stared  at  me.  The  General  in- 


PERSONAL   RECOLLECTIONS  OF   GENERAL   SHERMAN. 


troduced  me,  adding  some  complimentary 
things. 

"And  I  want  you  all  to  know  him,"  he 
said,  "  and  after  supper  you  must  hunt  him 
up  some  clothes." 

"I  have  an  extra  coat,"  said  Surgeon 
Moore.  "And  I  a  pair  of  trousers,"  said 
another. 

My  wardrobe  was  to  be  renewed  in  no 
time.  The  bare  anticipation  of  the  fact 
restored  my  confidence.  The  General 
seated  me  at  his  right  hand,  and  bade  me 
make  no  ceremony  about  proceeding  to 
whatever  was  before  me.  The  meal  was 
simple.  It  was  the  ordinary  army  rations, 


that  Sherman  never  could  march  or  swim 
an  army  through  the  lower  part  of  North 
Carolina  in  midwinter,  but  he  was  a  com- 
mander who  never  stopped  at  such  obsta- 
cles as  rivers  and  swamps  when  marching 
for  a  desired  object.  Here  were  rivers 
swollen  into  a  dozen  channels,  dark 
swamps  that  seemed  interminable,  miles  of 
roads  that  were  lately  bottomless,  or  often 
under  three  feet  of  ice-cold  water.  The 
bridges  were  destroyed  everywhere.  The 
narrow  causeways,  called  roads  by  cour- 
tesy, if  not  submerged,  were  defended  by 
the  enemy's  batteries.  It  rained  almost 
constantly  day  and  night,  and  the  only 


SHERMAN    BEFORE   ATLANTA,    I 


AGE   44. 


with  a  chicken  or  two  added,  which  the 
cook  had  foraged  that  day  on  the  march. 
I  ventured  to  relate  something  of  my  ex- 
periences in  prison.  The  General  listened 
with  the  closest  attention,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  from  that  moment  he  was  my 
friend.  It  was  the  commencement  of  an 
attachment  that  lasted  until  his  death, 
twenty-five  years. 

During  the  rest  of  that  famous  marching 
and  wading  through  the  Carolinas  I  was 
constantly  at  headquarters  until  we  reached 
the  Cape  Fear  River.  And  what  a  cam- 
paign that  was,  through  swamps  and 
woods  and  over  bridgeless  streams  !  Joe 
Johnston's  engineers  had  told  their  chief 


protection  the  army  had  was  the  little  rub- 
ber blankets  or  shelter  tents  they  carried 
on  their  backs  in  addition  to  their  knap- 
sacks and  several  days'  rations.  There 
were  not  a  half  dozen  complete  tents  in 
the  army.  Sherman  himself  oftenest  slept 
under  a  tent  "  fly,"  under  trees,  or  else  in 
stray  country  churches. 

Through  all  the  mud,  swamp,  forest,  and 
water,  the  troops  dragged  two  thousand 
wagons,  besides  ambulances  and  batteries. 
The  horses  and  mules  often  floundered  in 
the  bottomless  roads,  became  discouraged, 
gave  out,  and  died.  Then  the  men  took 
their  places,  and  dragged  wagons  and  can- 
non for  miles.  Whole  brigades  worked 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


sometimes  day  and  night  making  tempo- 
rary roadbeds  from  trees  felled  in  the 
swamps.  The  men  were  glad  to  sleep 
anywhere — in  the  mud,  in  the  woods,  in  the 
rain,  at  the  roadside — anywhere,  if  only 
they  could  lie  down  without  being  shot  at. 
There  is  official  record  that  one  division  of 
the  troops  on  this  terrible  march  waded 
through  swamps  and  forded  thirty-five  riv- 
ers where  the  ice-cold  water  often  reached 
to  the  men's  waists.  The  same  division, 
while  floundering  through  the  swamps, 
constructed  fifteen  miles  of  corduroy 
wagon  road  and  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
two  miles  of  side  road  for  the  troops. 
There  were  no  quartermaster's  trains,  so 
the  troops  were  nearly  destitute  of  cloth- 
ing. Thousands  of  the  army  were  shoe- 
less before  the  campaign  was  half  over. 

One  night  Sherman  and  his  staff  lodged 
in  a  little  deserted  church  they  found  in 
the  woods.  I  recall  how  the  General  him- 
self would  not  sleep  on  the  bit  of  carpet 
on  the  pulpit  platform. 

"  Keep  that  for  some  of  you  young  fel- 
lows who  are  not  well,"  he  said  laughingly, 
as  he  stretched  himself  out  on  a  long  hard 
bench  till  morning. 

He  shared  all  the  privations  and  hard- 
ships of  the  common  soldier.  He  slept  in 
his  uniform  every  night  of  the  whole  cam- 
paign. Sometimes  we  did  not  get  into  a 
camp  till  midnight.  I  think  every  man  in 
the  army  knew  the  General's  face,  and 
thousandsspokewith  him  personally.  The 
familiarity  of  the  troops  at  times  was  amus- 
ing. 

"  Don't  ride  too  fast,  General,"  they 
would  cry  out,  seeing  his  horse  plunging 
along  in  the  mire  at  the  roadside,  as  he 
tried  to  pass  some  division.  "  Pretty  slip- 
pery going,  Uncle  Billy  ;  pretty  slippery 
going."  Or,  "Say,  General,  kin  you  tell 
us  is  this  the  road  to  Richmond  ? " 

Every  soldier  of  his  army  had  taken  on 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  General  himself. 
They  would  go  anywhere  that  he  might 
point  to.  Often  as  he  approached  some 
regiment,  a  wild  huzza  would  be  given,  and 
taken  up  and  repeated  by  the  troops  a  mile 
ahead.  Instinct  seemed  to  tell  the  boys, 
when  there  was  any  loud  shouting  anywhere 
whatever,  that  Uncle  Billy  was  coming,  and 
they  joined  in  the  cheers  till  the  woods 
rang.  It  was  a  common  thing  for  the 
General  to  stop  his  horse  and  speak  words 
of  encouragement  or  praise  to  some  sub- 
ordinate officer  or  private  soldier  strug- 
gling at  the  roadside.  He  seemed  to  know 
the  faces  and  even  the  names  of  hundreds 
of  his  troops.  Even  the  foragers,  whose 


cleverness  and  fleetness  fed  the  army,  and 
who  left  the  regiments  at  daylight  every 
morning  on  foot,  and  at  the  close  of  each 
day  returned  to  camp  on  horseback  and 
muleback,  laden  with  supplies,  he  knew 
often  by  name.  Along  with  perfect  disci- 
pline, every  day  showed  some  proof  of  his 
sympathy  with  the  common  soldiers.  He 
had  his  humorous  side  with  them  too. 
When  the  army  reached  Goldsborough,. 
half  the  men  were  in  rags.  One  day  a  di- 
vision was  ordered  to  march  past  him  in 
review.  The  men  were  bare-legged  and 
ragged,  some  of  them  almost  hatless. 

"Only  look  at  the  poor  fellows  with 
their  bare  legs,"  said  an  officer  at  the 
General's  side,  sympathizingly. 

"Splendid  legs,"  cried  the  General,  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "splendid  legs.  Would 
give  both  of  mine  for  any  one  of  them." 

On  the  march  and  in  the  camp  Sher- 
man's life  was  simplicity  itself.  He  had 
few  brilliantly  uniformed  and  useless  aids 
about  him.  The  simple  tent  "  fly "  was- 
his  usual  headquarters,  and  under  it  all  his 
military  family  ate  together.  His  de- 
spatches he  wrote  mostly  with  his  own 
hand.  He  had  little  use  for  clerks.  But 
Dayton,  his  adjutant-general,  was  better 
than  a  regiment  of  clerks.  When  we 
halted  somewhere  in  the  woods  for  the 
night,  the  General  was  the  busiest  man  in 
the  army.  While  others  slept,  his  little 
camp-fire  was  burning,  and  often  in  the 
long  vigils  of  the  night  I  have  seen  a  tall 
form  walking  up  and  down  by  that  fire- 
Sometimes  we  got  a  little  behind  the  army 
with  our  night  camp,  or  too  far  in  front., 
and  then  the  staff  officers  and  the  order- 
lies would  buckle  on  their  pistols,  and  we 
remained  awake  all  night.  Sherman  him- 
self slept  but  little.  He  did  not  seem  to 
need  sleep,  and  I  have  known  him  to  stay 
but  two  hours  in  bed  many  a  night.  In  later 
years  a  slight  asthma  made  much  sleep 
impossible  for  him.  After  the  war,  when 
I  was  at  his  home  in  St.  Louis,  he  seldom 
retired  till  twelve  or  one  o'clock.  It  was 
often  as  late,  too,  on  this  march. 

It  was  a  singularly  impressive  sight  to 
see  this  solitary  figure  walking  there  by 
the  flickering  camp-fire  while  the  army 
slept.  If  a  gun  went  off  somewhere  in  the 
distance,  or  if  an  unusual  noise  were  heardr 
he  would  instantly  call  one  of  us  to  go  and 
find  out  what  it  meant.  He  paid  small 
attention  to  appearances  ;  to  dress  almost 
none. 

"There  is  going  to  be  a  battle  to-day,, 
sure,"  said  Colonel  Audenreid,  of  the  staff, 
one. morning  before  daylight. 


PERSONAL   RECOLLECTIONS   OF   GENERAL   SHERMAN. 


GENERAL   SHERMAN    IN    1865.      AGE    45. 

From  a  photograph  by  Brady. 


"  How  do  you  know  ? "  asked  a  comrade. 

"Why,  don't  you  see?  The  General's 
up  there  by  the  fire  putting  on  a  clean  col- 
lar. The  sign's  dead  sure." 

A  battle  did  take  place  that  day,  and 
Cheraw,  with  forty  cannon,  fell  into  our 
hands.  It  was  more  a  run  than  a  battle. 

Daylight  usually  saw  us  all    ready    for 


the  saddle.  When  noon  came  we  dis- 
mounted at  the  roadside,  sat  down  on  a 
log  or  on  the  grass,  and  had  a  simple 
lunch,  washed  down  with  water  from  the 
swamp,  or  something  stronger  from  a  flask 
that  was  ever  the  General's  companion  ; 
for  he  was  a  soldier,  and  was  living  a  sol- 
dier's life. 


66 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


When  we  reached  the  Cape  Fear  River, 
in  the  Carolinas,  we  found  there  (at  Fa- 
yetteville)  a  splendid  arsenal,  built  in 
former  times  by  the  United  States.  Now 
it  was  used  for  making  arms  to  destroy 
the  Government.  Sherman  burned  it  to 
the  ground ;  but  first  he  took  me  all 
through  the  building  and  explained  its 
complicated  machinery  and  apparatus.  I 
svas  astonished  that  any  one  but  a  mechan- 
ical engineer  could  know  all  about  such 
things. 

"Why,  of  course,  one  must  learn  every- 
thing," he  said  to  me.  "  I  picked  this  thing 
up  at  leisure*  hours.  One  must  never  let 
a  chance  to  learn  something  be  lost.  I 
say  this  to  young  men  always,"  he  con- 
tinued. "No  matter  if  the  thing  don't 
seem  to  be  of  much  use  at  the  time.  Who 
knows  how  soon  it  may  be  wanted  ?  No 
matter  how  far  away  from  one's  calling  it 
may  seem,  all  knowledge,  however  gained, 
is  of  use  ;  sometimes  of  great  use.  Why," 
he  went  on,  "once  when  I  captured  a  town 
in  Alabama,  I  found  the  telegraph  wire  in 
perfect  order.  The  enemy  had  forgotten 
it  or  had  run  away  too  quick  to  cut  it. 
My  operator  was  not  with  me.  I  called  to 
know  if  any  soldier  in  the  bodyguard  could 
work  an  instrument. 

"  '  I  can,'  said  a  beardless  private. 

"  He  had  picked  up  a  knowledge  of  the 
thing,  'just  for  fun,'  he  said.  I  set  him  at 
work.  Important  news  was  going  over 
the  wire  from  Lee.  That  boy  caught  the 
message.  I  had  it  signalled  back  of  my 
lines  to  be  repeated  to  General  Grant  in 
Virginia.  Perhaps  it  helped  to  save  a  bat- 
tle. Anyway,  that  young  man  won  pro- 
motion. Learning  a  little  thing  once  when 
chance  offered,  afterward  gave  him  the  op- 
portunity of  his  life. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man  stationed  in 
Georgia,"  he  continued,  "my  comrades  at 
the  military  post  spent  their  Sundays  play- 
ing cards  and  visiting.  I  spent  mine  in 
riding  or  walking  over  the  hills  of  the 
neighborhood.  I  learned  the  topography 
of  the  country.  It  was  no  use  to  me  then. 
Later,  I  led  an  army  through  that  region, 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  country  I  had 
gained  there  as  a  young  fellow  helped  me 
to  win  a  dozen  victories." 

We  went  from  the  arsenal  back  to  the 
breakfast  table  in  an  adjoining  house. 

"  This  arsenal  has  cost  a  mint  of  money," 
he  said,  "  but  it  must  burn.  It  is  time  to 
commence  hurting  these  fellows.  They 
must  find  out  that  war  is  war  ;  and  the 
more  terrible  it  is  made,  the  sooner  it  is 
over." 


I  told  him  what  Stonewall  Jackson  said 
as  to  not  taking  prisoners. 

"  Perhaps  he  was  right,"  said  the  General. 
"It  seems  cruel;  but  if  there  were  no 
quarter  given,  most  men  would  keep  out 
of  war.  Rebellions  would  be  few  and 
short." 

While  we  were  eating,  a  whistle  blew.  It 
was  from  a  little  tugboat  that  had  steamed 
its  way  up  the  swollen  and  dangerous  river 
from  Wilmington.  It  passed  the  enemy 
hidden  on  either  bank.  It  was  the  first 
sound  from  the  North  heard  since  the 
army  left  the  ocean.  No  one  in  all  the 
North  knew  where  Sherman's  army  was. 
Rumors  brought  from  the  South  said  it 
was  "floundering  and  perishing  in  the 
swamps  of  the  Carolinas."  That  day  the 
General  directed  me  to  board  this  tugboat, 
run  down  the  river  in  the  night,  and  carry 
despatches  to  General  Grant  in  front  of 
Richmond,  and  to  President  Lincoln  at 
Washington. 

"  Don't  say  much  about  how  we  are 
doing  down  here,"  said  the  General,  as  he 
put  his  arm  about  me  and  said  farewell 
that  evening  down  at  the  river  bank. 
"Don't  tell  them  in  the  North  we  are  cut- 
ting any  great  swath  here.  Just  say  we 
are  taking  care  of  whatever  is  getting  in 
front  of  us.  And  be  careful  your  boat 
don't  get  knocked  to  the  bottom  of  the 
river  before  daylight." 

Our  little  craft  was  covered  nearly  all 
over  with  cotton  bales.  The  river  was 
very  wide  and  out  of  its  banks  everywhere  ; 
the  night  was  dark.  Whatever  the  enemy 
may  have  thought  of  the  little  puffs  of 
steam  far  out  on  the  dark,  rapid  water,  we 
got  down  to  the"  sea  unharmed.  A  fleet 
ocean  steamer  at  once  carried  me  to  Vir- 
ginia. Grant  was  in  a  little  log  cabin  at 
City  Point,  and  when  an  officer  was  an- 
nounced with  despatches  from  Sherman, 
he  was  delighted.  He  took  me  into  a 
back  room,  read  the  letters  I  ripped  out  of 
my  clothing,  and  asked  me  many  questions. 
Then  General  Ord  entered. 

"Look  here,"  said  General  Grant,  de- 
lighted as  a  child.  "  Look  here,  Ord,  at 
the  news  from  Sherman.  He  has  beaten 
even  the  swamps  of  the  Carolinas." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Ord,  rattling  his 
big  spurs  ;  "I  am  so  glad.  I  was  getting 
a  little  uneasy." 

"I  not  a  bit,"  said  Grant.  "I  knew 
Sherman.  I  knew  my  man.  I  knew  my 
man,"  he  gravely  continued,  almost  to 
himself. 

Rawlins,  the  adjutant-general,  was  called 
in  to  rejoice  with  the  others.  Then  a 


PERSONAL   RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GENERAL   SHERMAN. 


67 


GENERAL    SHERMAN    IN    1869.       AGE   49. 

From  a  photograph  by  Brady. 


leave  of  absence  was  made  out  for  me  to 
go  North  to  my  home,  where  I  had  been 
but  eight  days  during  the  whole  war,  and 
now  my  months  of  painful  imprisonment 
had  undermined  my  health. 

When  next  I  saw  General  Sherman  it 
was  at  my  own  house  in  Switzerland,  after 
the  war  had  closed.  He  was  making  his 
grand  tour  of  Europe,  and  came  out  of 
his  way  to  visit  me.  I  was  then  a  consul 


at  Zurich.  For  days  we  talked  the  old 
times  over.  All  the  military  men  in 
Switzerland  wanted  to  see  the  great 
American  captain.  A  company  of  them 
were  invited  to  an  excursion  up  the  lake. 
Then  it  was  learned  that  nearly  all  of 
them  had  been  students  of  Sherman's 
campaigns  for  months.  It  was  a  novel 
sight  to  see  them  under  the  awning  of 
the  steamer,  surrounding  Sherman,  while 
with  pencil  and  maps  in  hand  he  traced 


68 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS, 


for  them  all  the  strategic  lines  of  "  The 
March  to  the  Sea."  A  high  officer  begged 
as  a  souvenir  the  map  that  Sherman's 
hand  had  traced. 

"  It  shall  be  an  heirloom  in  my  family," 
he  declared. 

The  lake  pleased  the  General.  "Still," 
said  he,  "  it  is  no  prettier  than  the  lakes 
at  Madison,  Wisconsin.  It  looks  like 
them,  but  they  are  our  own  ;  they  are 
American." 

He  appreciated  beautiful  scenes  and 
dwelt  upon  them  almost  with  the  love  of 
a  poet.  "  I  am  glad  you  saw  San  Remo," 
he  wrote  me.  "Vividly  I  recall  the  ride 
to  Genoa,  the  gorgeous  scenery  of  the  sea 
and  shore,  of  sheltered  vales  and  olive- 


far  up  the  lake,  at  the  time  of  his  visit. 
It  was  two  miles  from  the  boat  landing 
at  the  village,  and  I  could  get  no  fit  car- 
riage to  take  him  up. 

"Let  me  walk,"  said  he.  ".Don't  rob 
me  of  the  only  opportunity  I  have  had  to 
use  my  feet  in  Europe." 

All  the  villagers  hung  out  flags,  and 
the  peasants,  who  knew  from  the  town 
papers  that  he  was  coming,  stood  at  the 
roadsides  with  bared  heads.  Then  a  com- 
pany of  village  cadets  marched  up  the 
hill  to  our  house  to  do  him  honor.  He 
spoke  to  them  in  English.  They  did  not 
understand  a  word,  but  gave  a  grand 
hurrah,  and  then  marched  down  again. 

When  Sherman  went   to   live   in  Wash- 


GENERAL   SHERMAN    IN    1876.      AGE    56. 

From  a  photograph  by  Mora. 


clad  hills,  with  the  snow-capped  Apen- 
nines behind.  Washington,"  he  said,  "  is 
to  my  mind  the  handsomest  city  in  the 
world,  not  excepting  Paris  ;  and  the  Po- 
tomac, when  walled  in  and  its  shores  in 
grass-plots,  may  some  day  approximate  to 
the  Rhine  in  loveliness." 

It  rained  a  little  the  morning  he  was 
starting  from  Zurich  to  the  St.  Gothard 
Pass  for  Italy,  and  threatened  storm. 
My  wife  tried  to  induce  him  to  wait  for 
better  weather. 

"  No,  that  I  never  do,"  said  he.  "  If  it 
is  raining  when  I  start,  it  is  sure  to  clear 
up  on  the  way  ;  and  that's  when  we  like 
the  weather  to  be  good.  No,  I  would 
rather  start  in  a  storm  than  not." 

We   lived   in   Bocken,  a   country   house 


ington  it  seemed  as  if  every  soldier  who 
came  there  felt  bound  to  call  on  him. 
Every  man  of  them  was  received  as  an  old 
friend  and  companion.  Day  in,  day  out, 
the  bell  would  ring,  and,  "It's  a  soldier," 
the  maid  would  announce. 

"Let  him  in,"  the  General  would  an- 
swer. 

No  matter  what  he  was  engaged  upon, 
or  who  was  in  the  room,  the  worthy  and 
the  unworthy  alike  went  off  with  his  bless- 
ing, and,  if  need  be,  his  aid.  He  kept 
open  accounts  at  shoe-stores,  where  every 
needy  soldier  calling  on  him  could  get 
shoes  at  his  expense.  One  of  his  bene- 
ficiaries, at  least,  did  not  withhold  due  ex- 
pressions of  gratitude.  A  young  colored 
man,  who  wore  a  big  scarlet  necktie  and 


PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GENERAL   SHERMAN. 


69 


twirled  in  one  hand  a  silk  hat  and  in  the 
other  a  fancy  cane,  calling,  said  : 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Sherman,  I  wants  to  thank 
you  very  much  for  the  place  you  done  got 
for  me  in  the  department.  I  likes  the 
place.  Yes,  Mr.  Sherman.  And  I  wants 
to  thank  God  for  you  very  much,  and  I 
hopes  you'll  get  to  heaven  just  sure.  Fact 
is,  I  just  know  you  will." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  the  General, 
glancing  over  the  top  of  the  newspaper  he 
was  reading,  "only  you  look  out  that  you 
don't  get  to  the  other  place." 

Sherman  loved  young  people — associ- 
ated with  them  all  his  life.  There  was  no 
frolic  he  could  not  take  part  in  with  them. 
Boys,  not  less  than  girls,  liked  him  and 
his  happy  ways.  He  made  the  sun  shine 
for  them.  If  he  kissed  the  girls,  the  girls 
kissed  him. 

Once  I  saw  him  at  Berne  when  he  was 
boarding  the  train  for  Paris.  Every  Amer- 
ican girl  who  happened  to  be  in  the  town 
came  to  see  him  off.  Not  one  of  them  had 
ever  seen  him  before,  but  every  one  of 
them  kissed  him  ;  so  did  some  of  their 
mothers.  Women  like  real  heroes  in  this 
world. 

In  1874  he  moved  up  town  to  Fifteenth 
Street,  and  almost  next  door  to  Mr.  Elaine. 
Sometimes  in  the  hot  summer  evenings 
the  two  sat  on  the  stone  walk  out  in  front 
of  Sherman's  house  till  late  in  the  night, 
talking  about  everything  except  politics. 
I  was  often  an  interested  listener.  Sher- 
man called  Elaine  the  "  Great  Premier." 

"  He  has  a  great  genius  for  running 
things,"  said  he,  "and  parties;  likes  to 
make  friends,  and  has  got  lots  of  them  ; 
knows  how  to  make  enemies  too.  Can't 
keep  all  his  promises — makes  too  many  ; 
forgets  them.  That's  politics.  He  is  a 
great  man,  though,  a  statesman,  spite  of 
shortcomings." 

Speaking  of  Elaine's  bitter  enemies,  he 
once  said  :  "  All  saccessful  men  are  hated 
by  "somebody." 

Sometimes  those  hot  summer  evenings, 
in  Fifteenth  Street,  he  held  quasi-recep- 
tions  out  in  front  of  the  house,  so  many 
people  came  to  see  him.  Everybody  felt  at 
liberty  to  call,  or,  if  he  saw  friends  passing 
under  the  gaslight,  he  bade  them  sit  down 
and  chat.  Inside  the  house  his  hospitality 
was  boundless.  There  was  never  any  end 
to  guests.  He  kept  open  house,  as  it  were. 
The  table  was  always  spread,  and  unex- 
pected guests  sat  down  daily.  I  wondered 
at  the  time  how  his  salary,  though  large, 
ever  paid  his  expenses. 

His  private  office  was  a  little  room  down 


in  the  basement.  Who  in  Washington  can 
ever  forget  the  little  tin  sign  on  the  win- 
dow below,  bearing  the  simple  words  : 

"  OFFICE  OF  GENERAL  SHERMAN." 

"  Not  the  great  Sherman  ! "  many  a 
passer-by  has  exclaimed,  as  he  halted  and 
looked  down  at  the  window,  hoping  possi- 
bly for  a  single  glimpse  of  the  man  him- 
self. He  always  chose  these  modest 
basements  for  his  own  office,  whether  in 
Washington,  St.  Louis,  or  New  York.  The 
furnishing  was  no  less  modest.  A  plain 
desk,  his  familiar  chair,  seats  for  a  few 
friends  by  the  little  open  fireplace,  a  fine 
engraving  of  General  Grant,  an  occasional 
battle  scene,  a  big  photograph  of  Sheridan, 
and  some  cases  and  shelves  filled  with  his 
books,  war  maps,  and  valuable  correspond- 
ence. Simple  as  it  seemed,  all  was  sys- 
tematized. The  Government  allowed  him 
one  clerk,  Mr.  Barrett,  whose  whole  time 
was  spent  in  classifying  and  indexing 
papers  and  letters  as  valuable  as  any  in  all 
America.  Sherman  had  for  twenty-five 
years  corresponded  with  many  notable 
people — Lincoln,  Chase,  Grant,  Sheridan, 
all  the  heroes  of  the  war  times,  civil  or 
military,  besides  hundreds  of  private  indi- 
viduals. It  is  in  these  latter  letters,  scat- 
tered among  friends  everywhere,  that  is 
best  seen  the  spark  of  nature's  fire  that, 
next  to  his  deeds,  most  marks  Sherman  as 
a  man  of  genius.  He  wrote  as  he  talked, 
sometimes  at  random,  but  always  brill- 
iantly. •  Often  late  in  the  night,  as  he 
walked  up  and  down  the  little  room 
among  the  letters  of  the  great  men  he  had 
known,  it  seemed  as  if  he  might  be  in  com- 
munion with  their  spirits.  They  were 
nearly  all  dead  ;  he  had  outlived  most  of 
the  heroes  of  the  war  North  or  South,  and 
seemed  at  times  like  one  who  had  been  in 
the  world,  seen  its  glories  and  its  follies, 
and  was  ready  himself  to  depart. 

"  Some  night  as  I  come  home  from  the 
theatre  or  a  dinner,"  he  once  said,  "  a  chill 
will  catch  me.  I  will  have  a  cold,  be  un- 
well a  day,  and  then " 

It  all  happened,  at  last,  just  as  his  im- 
agination had  foreseen  it. 

After  he  removed  to  St.  Louis,  where  he 
had  a  quiet  house  at  912  Garrison  Avenue, 
the  office  was  in  the  simple  basement  as 
before.  The  same  tin  sign  was  on  the 
window.  All  seemed  as  before  ;  nothing 
changed.  Almost  every  night,  after  other 
friends  had  left,  we  sat  in  his  room  and 
talked  or  read.  I  had  been  invited  to 
his  house  at  this  time  for  the  purpose  of 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


editing  certain  of  his  letters  for  the  "  North 
American  Review." 

"  Here  are  my  keys,"  he  said  one  night, 
throwing  them  on  my  desk.  "  There  are 
all  my  papers  and  letters.  You  will  find 
things  there  that  will  interest  people." 

And  I  did  ;  but  I  did  not  regard  it  as 
right,  nor  myself  at  liberty,  to  print  many 
of  the  letters  at  the  time. 

"  Before  you  moved  out  of  Atlanta,  Gen- 
eral," I  once  asked,  "  what  did  you  think 
would  be  the  effect  of  your  marching  that 
army  down  to  the  ocean  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  would  end  the  war,"  he 
answered  quickly.  "  It  was  to  put  me  be- 
hind Lee's  army  so  soon  as  I  should  turn 
north  to  the  Carolinas.  You  have  the  let- 
ter there  that  Lee  once  wrote,  saying  it 
was  easy  for  him  to  see  that  unless  my 
plans  were  interrupted  he  would  be  com- 
pelled to  leave  Richmond.  I  had  scarcely 
reached  the  Roanoke  River  when  he  com- 
menced slipping  out  of  Richmond,  and  the 
whole  Confederacy  suddenly  came  to  an 
end." 

General  Grant  realized  to  the  full  the 
tremendous  importance  of  Sherman's  last 
movements. 

"  That  was  a  campaign,"  said  he,  "  the 
like  of  which  is  not  read  of  in  the  past  his- 
tory. " 

I  looked  over  hundreds  of  Sherman's 
papers.  When  I  found  anything  that  spe- 
cially interested  me,  I  mentioned  it  to  him. 
Then  he  dropped  his  book,  and  talked  by 
the  hour,  relating  to  me  the  incidents,  and 
speaking  of  noted  men  whom  he  had 
known.  These  were  the  times  when  it  was 
most  worth  while  to  hear  Sherman  talk. 

While  I  busied  myself  with  the  letters, 
he  was  deep  in  Walter  Scott,  or  Dickens, 
or  Robert  Burns.  A  copy  of  Burns  lay  on 
his  desk  constantly.  Certain  of  Dickens's 
novels  he  read  once  every  year.  I  have 
forgotten  which  they  were.  He  was  a 
constant  reader  of  good  books,  and  I  think 
he  knew  Burns  almost  by  heart.  He  was 
also  fond  of  music,  and  went  much  to  the 
opera.  Army  songs  always  pleased  him, 
and  there  was  one  commencing,  "  Old  fel- 
low, you've  played  out  your  time,"  he 
could  not  hear  too  often. 

"  It  is  the  whole  and  true  history  of  a 
soldier's  life  and  sorrows,"  he  would  say. 

He  hated  the  newspapers,  yet  through 
necessity,  almost,  he  read  them  every 
morning,  making  running  comments  on 
what  they  said.  If  there  were  funny 
things  in  them,  or  spicy,  he  read  them 
aloud,  for  he  was  a  lover  of  a  good  joke. 

"  But  there's  none  of  it  true,"  he  would 


say.  "I  almost  think  it  impossible  for  an 
editor  to  tell  the  truth.  If  this  country  is 
ever  given  over  to  socialism,  communism, 
and  the  devil,  the  newspapers  will  be  to 
blame  for  it.  The  chief  trouble  of  my  life 
has  been  in  dealing  with  newspapers.  They 
want  sensations — something  that  will  sell. 
If  they  make  sad  a  hundred  or  a  thousand 
hearts,  it  is  of  DO  concern  to  them." 

For  professional  politicians  he  had  as 
little  regard  as  for  the  newspapers. 

"  But  there  are  newspapers  and  newspa- 
pers,"said  he  ;  "politicians  and  politicians  ; 
but  statesmen  are  scarce  as  hens'  teeth.  No 
American  can  help  interesting  himself  in 
politics.  That  belongs  to  a  republic. 
Every  man's  a  ruler  here  whether  he 
knows  anything  about  it  or  not  ;  and  all 
parties  are  about  alike." 

But  he  had  every  confidence  in  our  gov- 
ernment. 

"  Thanks  to  the  Union  soldiers,"  said  he, 
"  the  Ship  of  State  is  in  port,  and  it  don't 
matter  much  who's  President.  But  parties 
are  necessary.  No  single  man  can  run  this 
government  without  a  united  party  to  help 
him.  Again, "he said, "our  national  strength 
is  tested  by  the  political  hurricanes  which 
pass  over  us  every  four  years,  and  by  such 
transitions  as  took  place  when  the  govern*- 
ment  passed  from  Garfield  to  Arthur.  Next 
week  the  Democrats  will  meet  and  nominate 
Jeff  Davis,  Cleveland,  or  some  other  fellow  ; 
but  it  don't  matter  who  is  captain — the 
ship's  in.  Anyway,  our  best  Presidents 
are  usually  accidents." 

Sherman's  own  name  was  always  being 
proposed  for  President,  but  he  had  no  de- 
sire for  the  office. 

"  My  consent  never  will  be  obtained," 
said  he.  "It  is  entirely  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. I  don't  want  the  Presidency  and 
will  not  have  it,  I  recall  too  well  the  ex- 
periences of  Jackson,  Harrison,  Taylor, 
Grant,  Hayes,  Garfield — all  soldiers — to 
be  tempted  by  the  siren  voice  of  flattery." 

When  in  1884  it  was  insisted  that  he 
should  run,  and  he  was  told  it  was  a  duty, 
and  that  "no  man  dare  refuse  a  call  of  the 
people,"  he  answered  sternly  :  "  No  politi- 
cal party  convention  is  the  keeper  of  the 
United  States  ;  and  if  really  nominated  I 
would  decline  in  such  language  as  would 
do  both  the  convention  and  myself  harm." 

No  matter  how  early  the  General  was 
out  of  bed  those  mornings  in  St.  Louis,  it 
was  hard  to  get  him  to  breakfast  if  once  he 
had  commenced  reading  or  writing  down  in 
the  basement.  To  remedy  this,  his  wife  had 
the  newspapers  put  on  the  breakfast  table. 
Mrs.  Sherman  always  called  him  "  Cump." 


PERSONAL   RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GENERAL   SHERMAN. 


That  was  his  name  with  her  before  he  was 
eminent,  and  I  am  sure  he  liked  it,  with  all 
the  love  and  familiarity  it  conveyed,  far 
more  than  any  of  the  titles  given  him  by 
Presidents  and  legislatures.  In  fact,  he 
gave  little  regard  to  titles  alone. 

"  Lieutenant  A is  again  off  looking 

up  his  ancestors,"  he  once  said  to  me, 
"just  as  if  ancestors  or  titles  made  a  man. 
I  suppose  I  had  some  military  talent  to 
start  with,  but  it  was  work,  not  ancestors, 


instantly  pulled  the  metal  badge  from  his 
own  breast  and  pinned  it  on  my  coat. 

That  badge  is  on  my  desk  while  I  write 
these  recollections. 

Once  he  took  me  to  see  "  Buffalo  Bill  " 
at  the  fair  grounds.  A  crippled  soldier  we 
met  on  the  way  begged  for  help,  and  he  so 
nearly  emptied  his  pocket-book  to  the  man, 
he  had  to  borrow  money  to  get  us  into  the 
show.  The  show  delighted  him  as  it  might 
have  delighted  a  little  child.  He  called  for 


GENERAL    SHERMAN    IN    1888.      AGE   68. 

From  a  photograph  by  Sarony. 


and  study,  and  forever  work,  that  brought 
me  my  success." 

His  nature  was  generous  and  unselfish 
in  the  extreme.  One  night  at  St.  Louis 
he  was  invited  to  speak  at  the  presenta- 
tion of  a  new  flag  to  Ransom  Post.  When 
I  came  down  stairs  to  accompany  him,  he 
stood  in  the  parlor  dressed  and  wait- 
ing. 

"  Where's  your  badge  ?  "  he  said  to  me. 

"Why,  General,  I  have  none  here." 

"  Have  none  ?     Take  this,"  he  said,  and 


Colonel  Cody  ("  Buffalo  Bill ")  to  be  brought 
to  him  that  he  might  shake  hands  with  him. 
He  had  known  him  many  years  before. 

"That  man's  a  genius,"  said  he,  when 
Cody  went  back  to  the  ring.  "  He  puts 
his  life  into  his  show,  and  Cody  believes  in 
himself." 

Not  every  warrior  can  shed  a  tear. 
Sherman's  heart  was  as  tender  as  a  child's. 
I  have  seen  those  thin,  compressed  lips 
tremble,  and  the  brown  eyes  moisten,  at 
the  recital  of  a  wrong.  He  had  two  sides 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


to  his  nature.  In  war  he  had  all  the  ele- 
ments of  the  stern  soldier ;  he  could  be 
resolute,  but  not  pitiless.  Gallantry  and 
chivalry  were  parts  of  his  nature.  In 
peace  he  was  a  student,  a  gracious  gentle- 
man ;  the  man  whom  women  and  children 
loved.  His  kindness  simply  knew  no 
bounds.  For  a  companion-in-arms,  no 
matter  what  his  rank,  he  had  abiding  re- 
gard. 

"  Sherman  recommends  everybody  for 
place,"  said  a  department  chief  to  me  one 
day.  "  Now  which  one  can  he  want  ap- 
pointed ?" 

"  He  wants  them  all  appointed,"  I  re- 
plied. 

His  tall  form,  his  genial  manners,  but' 
above  all  the  story  of  his  great  deeds, 
made  him  a  constantly  noticeable  figure 
wherever  he  went.  His  face  was  as  famil- 
iar to  Americans  as  the  face  of  Washing- 
ton or  Lincoln.  He  always  seemed  to  me 
younger  than  he  really  was.  He  had  to 
the  last  a  buoyancy  of  spirits  that  usually 
belongs  only  to  youth.  I  never  saw  him 
speak  to  a  young  person  without  smiling  ; 
and  as  to  his  ways  toward  women,  he  was 
a  Bayard  of  the  Bayards.  The  term 
chivalrous  belonged  to  him  by  birth- 
right. 

I  recall  how,  after  a  noon  dinner  party 
at  Berne  once,  a  lady,  not  a  young  or  a 
beautiful  one,  had  started  up  the  stairs 
alone.  A  dozen  young  fellows  loitering 
there  allowed  her  to  go  unnoticed.  The 
General,  at  the  salon  door,  got  a  glimpse 
of  her  half  way  up  to  the  landing.  In 
long  strides  he  bounded  instantly  up  the 
stairs,  and  had  her  arm  before  she  knew 
it.  Her  smile  repaid  him  as  it  rebuked 
the  rest.  Despite  reports  to  the  contrary, 
he  was  as  chivalrous  toward  women  and 
children  in  the  South  as  he  was  toward  his 
own  people,  and  protected  them  as  fully. 
I  recall  vividly  how  once  on  the  march  in 
the  Carolinas  he  caused  a  young  staff 
officer  to  be  led  out  before  the  troops,  his 
sword  broken  in  two  and  his  shoulder- 
straps  cut  from  his  shoulders,  because  he 


had  permitted  some  of  his  men  to  rob  a 
Southern  woman  of  her  jewelry. 

"I  am  a  thief,"  were  the  words  he  pla- 
carded over  the  head  of  another  soldier, 
who  had  stolen  a  woman's  finger-ring. 
With  this  inscription  above  his  head,  the 
culprit  stood  on  top  of  a  barrel  by  a  bridge 
while  the  whole  army  filed  past  him. 

He  was  always  making  little  speeches. 
He  had  to  ;  it  was  demanded  of  him.  He 
was  no  orator,  but  he  said  original  things. 
His  words  were  crisp,  to  the  point,  and 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

When  the  family  were  preparing  to  re- 
move from  St.  Louis  to  New  York,  Sher- 
man said:  "I  must  see  people;  I  must 
talk." 

He  loved  St.  Louis,  but  there  was  only 
one  New  York.  I  begged  a  trifle  from  his 
little  room  before  he  went — that  room  in 
which  I  had  so  often,  late  into  the  night, 
sat  alone  with  him  and  listened  to  the 
magic  of  his  talk.  He  took  a  bronze 
paper-weight  from  his  desk. 

"  It  is  the  image  of  America's  greatest 
captain,"  he  said,  and  gave  me  a  little  fig- 
ure of  General  Grant  that  had  been  on 
his  desk  for  many  years. 

General  Sherman's  appreciation  of  Grant 
knew  no  bounds. 

"  He  was  the  one  level-headed  man 
among  us  all,"  he  said  one  night. 

In  New  York  I  was  with  him  again  from 
time  to  time.  Again  his  office  was  in  the 
basement.  The  same  furniture,  the  same 
pictures,  the  little  open  fireplace,  the  same 
man,  the  same  talk.  Advancing  years 
changed  his  features  a  little,  but  not  his 
spirits.  His  hair  was  gray,  but  his  eyes 
were  bright  as  ever. 

Then  came  a  day  when  I  went  into  the 
little  basement  in  Seventy-first  Street  only 
to  find  the  chair  of  the  Great  Captain  for- 
ever vacant.  His  body  lay  in  its  coffin  in 
a  darkened  room  up-stairs.  It  was  clad  in 
the  full  uniform  of  a  commanding  general. 
The  commander  of  an  opposing  army 
helped  bear  it  to  the  tomb ;  and  never 
was  the  grief  of  a  nation  more  sincere. 


PROFESSOR    JOHN    TYNDALL. 

BY  HERBERT  SPENCER. 


JOHN   TYNDALL,    LL.D.,    F.R.S.       1865.       AGE   45. 

AMONG  the  various  penalties  entailed 
by  ill-health,  a  not  infrequent  one  is 
the  inability  to  pay  the  last  honors  to  a 
valued  friend  ;  and  sometimes  another  is 
the  undue  postponement  of  such  tribute  to 
his  memory  as  remains  possible.  Of  both 
these  evils  I  have  just  had  experience. 

It  was,  I  think,  in  1852  that  Professor 
Tyndall  gave  at  the  Royal  Institution  the 
lecture  by  which  he  won  his  spurs  :  prov- 
ing, as  he  then  did,  to  Faraday  himself, 
that  he  had  been  wrong  in  denying  dia- 
magnetic  polarity.  I  was  present  at  that 
lecture  ;  and  when  introduced  to  him  very 
shortly  after  it,  there  commenced  one  of 
those  friendships  which  enter  into  the 
fabric  of  life  and  leave  their  marks. 
Though  both  had  pronounced  opinions 
about  most  things,  and  though  neither  had 
much  reticence,  the  forty  years  which  have 
elapsed  since  we  first  met  witnessed  no 
interruption  of  our  cordial  relations.  In- 
deed, during  recent  years  of  invalid  life 
suffered  by  both  of  us,  the  warmth  of 
nature  characteristic  of  him  has  had  in- 
creased opportunity  for  manifesting  itself. 
A  letter  from  him,  dated  November  25111, 
inquiring  my  impressions  concerning  the 
climate  of  this  place  (St.  Leonard's),  raised 
the  hope  that  something  more  than  inter- 
course by  correspondence  would  follow  ; 
but  before  I  received  a  response  to  my 
reply  there  came  the  news  of  the  sad 
catastrophe. 


I  need  not  dwell  on  the  more  conspicu- 
ous of  Professor  Tyndall's  intellectual 
traits,  for  these  are  familiar  to  multitudes 
of  readers.  His  copiousness  of  illustra- 
tion, his  closeness  of  reasoning,  and  his 
lucidity  of  statement  have  been  suffi- 
ciently emphasized  by  others.  Here  I  will 
remark  only  on  certain  powers  of  thought, 
not  quite  so  obvious,  which  have  had 
much  to  do  with  his  successes.  Of  these 
the  chief  is  "  the  scientific  use  of  the 
imagination."  He  has  himself  insisted 
upon  the  need  for  this,  and  his  own  career 
exemplifies  it.  There  prevail,  almost  uni- 
versally, very  erroneous  ideas  concerning 
the  nature  of  imagination.  Superstiti'ous 
peoples,  whose  folk-lore  is  full  of  tales  of 
fairies  and  the  like,  are  said  to  be  imagina- 
tive ;  while  nobody  ascribes  imagination 
to  the  inventor  of  a  new  machine.  Were 
this  conception  of  imagination  the  true 
one,  it  would  imply  that,  whereas  children 
and  savages  are  largely  endowed  with  it, 
and  whereas  it  is  displayed  in  a  high 
degree  by  poets  of  the  first  order,  it  is 
deficient  in  those  having  intermediate  types 
of  mind.  But,  as  rightly  conceived,  im- 
agination is  the  power  of  mental  represen- 
tation, and  is  measured  by  the  vividness 
and  truth  of  this  representation.  So  con- 
ceived, it  is  seen  to  distinguish  not  poets 
only,  but  men  of  science  ;  for  in  them,  too, 
"  imagination  bodies  forth  the  forms  [and 
actions]  of  things  unknown."  It  does  this 
in  an  equal,  and  sometimes  even  in  a 
higher  degree  ;  for,  strange  as  the  asser- 
tion will  seem  to  most,  it  is  nevertheless 
true  that  the  mathematician  who  discloses 
to  us  some  previously  unknown  order  of 
space-relations,  does  so  by  a  greater  effort 
of  imagination  than  is  implied  by  any 
poetic  creation.  The  difference  lies  in  the 
fact  that,  whereas  the  imagination  of  the 
poet  is  exercised  upon  objects  of  human 
interest  and  his  ideas  glow  with  emotion, 
the  imagination  of  the  mathematician  is 
exercised  upon  things  utterly  remote  from 
human  interest,  and  which  excite  no  emo- 
tion :  the  contrasted  appreciations  of  their 
respective  powers  being  due  to  the  circum- 
stance that  whereas  people  at  large  can 
follow,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  the 
imaginations  of  the  poet,  the  imaginations 
of  the  mathematician  lie  in  a  field  inacces- 


74 


HUMAN   DOCUMENTS. 

' 


PROFESSOR   TYNDALL    IN    1872,    DURING    HIS   VISIT   TO    AMERICA. 
AGE    52. 

From  a  photograph  by  Mora,  Broadway,  New  York. 

sible  to   them,  and   practically  non-exist- 
ent. 

This  constructive  imagination  (for  we 
are  not  concerned  with  mere  reminiscent 
imagination),  here  resulting  in  the  crea- 
tions of  the  poet  and  there  in  the  dis- 
coveries of  the  man  of  science,  is  the  high- 
est of  human  faculties.  With  this  faculty 
Professor  Tyndall  wasjargely  endowed. 
In  common  with  successful  investigators 
in  general,  he  displayed  it  in  forming  true 
conceptions  of  physical  processes  pre- 
viously misinterpreted  or  uninterpreted ; 
and,  again,  in  conceiving  modes  by  which 
the  actual  relations  of  the  phenomena 
could  be  demonstrated  ;  and,  again,  in 
devising  fit  appliances  to  this  end.  But  to 
a  much  greater  extent  than  usual,  he  dis- 
played constructive  imagination  in  other 
fields.  He  was  an  excellent  expositor; 
and  good  exposition  implies  much  con- 
structive imagination.  A  prerequisite  is 
the  forming  of  true  ideas  of  the  mental 
states  of  those  who  are  to  be  taught  ;  and 
a  further  prerequisite  is  the  imagining  of 
methods  by  which,  beginning -with  concep- 
tions they  possess,  there  may  be  built  up 
in  their  minds  the  conceptions  they  do  not 
possess.  Of  constructive  imagination  as 
displayed  in  this  sphere,  men  at  large  ap- 
pear to  be  almost  devoid  ;  as  witness  the 
absurd  systems  of  teaching  which  in  past 
times,  and  in  large  measure  at  present, 
have  stupefied,  and  still  stupefy,  children 
by  presenting  abstract  ideas  before  they 


PROFESSOR   TYNUALL    IN    1885.      AGE   65. 

From  a  photograph  by  Kingsbury  &  Notcutt,  London. 

have  any  concrete  ideas  from  which  they 
can  be  drawn.  Whether  as  lecturer  or 
writer,  Professor  Tyndall  carefully  avoided 
this  vicious  practice. 

In  one  further  way  was  his  constructive 
imagination  exemplified.  When  at  Queen- 
wood  College  he  not  only  took  care  to  set 
forth  truths  in  such  ways  and  in  such 
order  that  the  comprehension  of  them  de- 
veloped naturally  in  the  minds  of  those  he 
taught — he  did  more :  he  practised  those 
minds  themselves  in  constructive  imagina- 
tion. He  so  presented  his  problems  as  to 
exercise  their  powers  of  investigation.  He 
did  not,  like  most  teachers,  make  his  pupils 
mere  passive  recipients,  but  made  them 
active  explorers. 

As  these  facts  imply,  Professor  Tyndall's 
thoughts  were  not  limited  to  physics  and 
allied  sciences,  but  passed  into  psy- 
chology ;  and  though  this  was  not  one  of 
his  topics,  it  was  a  subject  of  interest  to 
him.  Led  as  he  was  to  make  excursions 
into  the  science  of  mind,  he  was  led  also 
into  that  indeterminate  region  through 
which  this  science  passes  into  the  science 
of  being  ;  if  we  can  call  that  a  science  of 
which  the  issue  is  nescience.  He  was 
much  more  conscious  than  physicists 
usually  are  that  every  physical  inquiry, 
pursued  to  the  end,  brings  us  down  to 
metaphysics,  and  leaves  us  face  to  face  with 
an  insoluble  problem.  Sundry  proposi- 
tions which  physicists  include  as  lying  with- 
in their  domain  do  not  belong  to  physics 


PROFESSOR   JOHN    TYNDALL. 


75 


at  all,  but  are  concerned  with  our  cogni- 
tions of  matter  and  force — a  fact  clearly 
shown  by  the  controversy  at  present  going 
on  about  the  fundamentals  of  dynamics. 
But  in  him  the  consciousness  that  here 
there  exists  a  door  which,  though  open, 
science  cannot  pass  through,  if  not  always 
present,  was  ever  ready  to  emerge.  Not 
improbably  his  early  familiarity  with  theo- 
logical questions,  given  him  by  the  contro- 
versy between  Catholicism  and  Protestant- 
ism, which  occupied  his  mind  much  during 
youth,  may  have  had  to  do  with  this.  But 
whatever  its  cause,  the  fact,  as  proved  by 
various  spoken  and  written  words,  was  a 
belief  that  the  known  is  surrounded  by  an 
unknown,  which  he  recognized  as  some- 
thing more  than  a  negation.  Men  of 
science  may  be  divided  into  two  classes, 
of  which  the  one,  well  exemplified  in  Fara- 
day, keeping  their  science  and  their  reli- 
gion absolutely  separate,  are  untroubled 
by  any  incongruities  between  them  ;  and 
the  other  of  which,  occupying  themselves 
exclusively  with  the  facts  of  science,  never 
ask  what  implications  they  have.  Be  it 
trilobite  or  be  it  double  star,  their  thought 


PROFESSOK    TYNDALL    IN    1890.       AGE    70. 

From  a  photograph  by  Fradelle  &  Young,  London. 


about  it  is  much  like  the  thought  of  Peter 
Bell  about  the  primrose.  Tyndall  did  not 
belong  to  either  class  ;  and  of  the  last  I 
have  heard  him  speak  with  implied  scorn. 
Being  thus  not  simply  a  specialist  but  in 
considerable  measure  a  generalist,  will- 
ingly giving  some  attention  to  the  or- 
ganic sciences,  if  not  largely  acquainted 
with  them,  and  awake  to  "the  humanities," 
if  not  in  the  collegiate  sense,  yet  in  a 
wider  sense — Tyndall  was  an  interesting 
companion  ;  beneficially  interesting  to 
those  with  brains  in  a  normal  state,  but 
to  me  injuriously  interesting,  as  being  too 
exciting.  Twice  I  had  experience  of  this. 
When,  after  an  injury  received  while  bath- 
ing in  a  Swiss  mountain  stream,  he  was 
laid  up  for  some  time  and,  on  getting  back 
to  England,  remained  at  Folkestone,  I 
went  down  to  spend  a  few  days  with  him. 
"Do  you  believe  in  matter?"  was  a  ques- 
tion which  he  propounded  just  as  we  were 
about  to  bid  one  another  good-night  after 
a  day's  continuous  talking.  Ever  since  a 
nervous  breakdown  in  1855,  over  my 
second  book,  talking  has  told  upon  me 
just  as  much  as  working,  and  has  had  to 
be  kept  within  narrow  limits  ;  so 
that  persistence  in  this  kind  of 
thing  was  out  of  the  question,  and 
I  had  to  abridge  my  stay.  Once 
more  the  like  happened  when, 
after  the  meeting  of  the  British 
Association  at  Liverpool,  we  ad- 
journed to  the  Lakes.  Gossip, 
which  may  he  carried  on  without 
much  intellectual  tax,  formed  but 
a  small  element  in  our  conversa- 
tion. There  was  almost  unceasing 
discussion  as  we  rambled  along  the 
shores  of  Windermere,  or  walked 
up  to  Rydal  Mount  (leaving  our 
names  in  the  visitors'  book),  or  as 
we  were  being  rowed  along  Gras- 
mere,  or  when  climbing  Loughrig 
on  our  way  back.  TyndalPs  intel- 
lectual vivacity  gave  me  no  rest  ; 
and  after  two  utterly  sleepless 
nights  I  had  to  fly. 

I  do  not  think  that  on  these  oc- 
casions, or  on  any  occasion,  poli- 
tics formed  one  of  our  topics. 
Whether  this  abstention  resulted 
by  accident  or  whether  from  per- 
ception that  we  should  disagree, 
I  cannot  say — possibly  the  last. 
Our  respective  leanings  may  be  in 
part  inferred  from  our  respective 
attitudes  towards  Carlyle.  To  me, 
profoundly  averse  to  autocracy, 
Carlyle's  political  doctrines  had 


76 

ever  been  repugnant. 
Much  as  I  did,  and  still 
do,  admire  his  marvel- 
lous style  and  the  vigor, 
if  not  the  truth,  of  his 
thought — so  much  so 
that  I  always  enjoy  any 
writing  of  his,  however 
much  I  disagree  with  it 
— intercourse  with  him 
soon  proved  impracti- 
cable. Twice  or  thrice, 
in  1851-52,  I  was  taken 
to  see  him  by  Mr.  G.  H. 
Lewes;  but  I  soon 
found  that  the  alterna- 
tives were — listening  in 
silence  to  his  dogmas, 
sometimes  absurd,  or 
getting  into  a  hot  argu- 
ment with  him,  which 
ended  in  our  glaring  at 
one  another ;  and  as  I 
did  not  like  either  alternative  I  ceased  to  go. 
With  Tyndall,  however,  the  case  seems  to 
have  been  different — possibly  because  of 
greater  tolerance  of  his  political  creed  and 
his  advocacy  of  personal  government.  The 
rule  of  the  strong  hand  was  not,  I  fancy, 
as  repellant  to  Tyndall  as  to  me  ;  and,  in- 
deed, I  suspect  that,  had  occasion  offered, 
he  would  not  have  been  reluctant  to  exer- 
cise such  rule  himself.  Though  his  sym- 
pathies were  such  as  made  him  anxious  for 
others'  welfare,  they  did  not  take  the  direc- 
tion of  anxiety  for  others'  freedom  as  the 
means  to  their  welfare  ;  and  hence  he  was, 
I  suppose,  not  in  pronounced  antagonism 
with  Carlyle  on  these  matters.  But  diver- 
gent as  our  beliefs  and  sentiments  were  in 
earlier  days,  there  has  been  in  recent  days 
mutual  approximation.  A  conversation 
with  him  some  years  since  made  it  mani- 
fest that  personal  experience  had  greatly 
shaken  the  faith  he  previously  had  in 
public  administrations,  and  made  him  look 
with  more  favor  on  the  view  of  state  func- 
tions held  by  me.  On  the  other  hand,  my 
faith  in  free  institutions,  originally  strong 
(though  always  joined  with  the  belief  that 
the  maintenance  and  success  of  them  is  a 
question  of  popular  character),  has  in 
these  later  years  been  greatly  decreased 
by  the  conviction  that  the  fit  character  is 
not  possessed  by  any  people,  nor  is  likely 
to  be  possessed  for  ages  to  come.  A  na- 
tion of  which  the  legislators  vote  as  they 
are  bid  and  of  which  the  workers  surren- 
der their  rights  of  selling  their  labor  as 
they  please,  has  neither  the  ideas  nor  the 
sentiments  needed  for  the  maintenance  of 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


HINDHEAD    HOUSE,    PROFESSOR   TYNDALL'S    ENGLISH    HOME,    WHERE    HE    DIED. 


liberty."  Lacking  them,  we  are  on  the  way 
back  to  the  rule  of  the  strong  hand  in  the 
shape  of  the  bureaucratic  despotism  of  a 
socialist  organization,  and  then  of  the  mili- 
tary despotism  which  must  follow  it  ;  if, 
indeed,  some  social  crash  does  not  bring 
this  last  upon  us  more  quickly.  Had  we 
recently  compared  notes,  I  fancy  that 
Tyndall  and  I  should  have  found  ourselves 
differing  but  little  in  our  views  concerning 
the  proximate  social  state,  if  not  of  the 
ultimate  social  state. 

In  the  sketch  he  has  recently  given  of 
our  late  friend,  who  was  one  of  the  small 
group  known  as  the  "  X  Club,"  Professor 
Huxley  has  given  some  account  of  that 
body.  Further  particulars  may  not  unfitly 
be  added  ;  one  of  which  may  come  better 
from  me  than  from  him.  The  impression 
that  the  club  exercised  influence  in  the 
scientific  world  (not  wholly  without  basis, 
I  think)  was  naturally  produced  by  such 
knowledge  as  there  eventually  arose  of  its 
composition.  For  it  contained  four  presi- 
dents of  the  British  Association,  three 
presidents  of  the  Royal  Society,  and  among 
its  members  who  had  not  filled  these 
highest  posts  there  were  presidents  of  the 
College  of  Surgeons,  the  Mathematical 
Society,  the  Chemical  Society,  etc.  Out 
of  the  nine  I  was  the  only  one  who  was 
fellow  of  no  society  and  had  presided  over 
nothing.  I  speak  in  the  past  tense,  for 
now,  unhappily,  the  number  of  rhembers  is 
reduced  to  five,  and  of  these  only  three 
are  in  good  health.  There  has  been  no 
meeting  for  the  past  year,  and  it  seems 
scarcely  likely  that  there  will  ever  be 


PROFESSOR   JOHN    TYNDALL. 


77 


another.  But  the  detail  of  most  interest 
which  Professor  Huxley  has  not  given, 
concerns  a  certain  supplementary  meeting 
which,  for  many  years,  took  place  after 
the  close  of  our  session.  This  lasted  from 
October  in  each  year  to  June  in  the  next  ; 
and  toward  the  close  of  June  we  had  a 
gathering  in  the  country  to  which  the 
married  members  brought  their  wives, 
raising  the  number  on  some  occasions  to 
fifteen.  Our  programme  was  to  leave 
town  early  on  Saturday  afternoon,  in  time 
for  a  ramble  or  a  boating  excursion  before 
dinner  ;  to  have  on  the  Sunday  a  picnic  in 
some  picturesque  place  adjacent  to  our 
temporary  quarters  ;  and,  after  dinner  that 
evening,  for  some  to  return  to  town,  while 
those  with  less  pressing  engagements  re- 
mained until  the  Monday  morning.  Two 
of  our  picnics  were  held  under  Burnham 
Beeches,  one  or  more  on  St.  George's  Hill, 
Weybridge,  and  another  in  Windsor  Forest. 
As  our  spirits  in  those  days  had  not  been 
subdued  by  years,  and  as  we  had  the  added 
pleasure  of  ladies'  society,  these  gatherings 
were  extremely  enjoyable.  If  Tyndall  did 
not  add  to  the  life  of  our  party  by  his  wit, 
he  did  by  his  hilarity.  But  my  special  mo- 
tive for  naming  these  rural  meetings  of  the 


THE    HALL    IN    HINDHEAD    HOUSE. 


"  X  "  is  that  I  may  mention  a  fact  which, 
to  not  a  few,  will  be  surprising  and  per- 
haps instructive.  We  sometimes  carried 
with  us  to  our  picnic  a  volume  of  verse, 
which  was  duly  utilized  after  the  repast. 
On  one  occasion,  while  we  reclined  under 
the  trees  of  Windsor  Forest,  Huxley  read 
to  us  Tennyson's  "  CEnone,"  and  on  another 
occasion  we  listened  to  Tyndall's  reading 
of  Mrs.  Browning's  poem,  "  Lady  Geral- 
dine's  Courtship."  The  vast  majority  of 
people  suppose  that  science  and  poetry 
are  antagonistic.  Here  is  a  fact  which 
may,  perhaps,  cause  some  of  them  to  revise 
their  opinions. 

From  the  impressions  of  Tyndall  which 
these  facts  indirectly  yield,  let  me  return 
to  impressions  more  directly  yielded. 
Though  it  is  scarcely  needful  to  say  any- 
thing about  his  sincerity,  yet  it  cannot 
properly  be  passed  over,  since  it  was  a 
leading  trait  in  his  nature.  It  has  been 
conspicuous  to  all,  alike  in  his  acts  and 
his  words.  The  Belfast  address  to  the 
British  Association  exhibited  his  entire 
thought  on  questions  which  most  men  of 
science  pass  over  from  prudential  con- 
siderations. But  in  him  there  was  no  spirit 
of  compromise.  It  never  occurred 
to  him  to  ask  what  it  was  politic 
to  say,  but  simply  to  ask  what  was 
true.  The  like  has  of  late  years 
been  shown  in  his  utterances  con- 
cerning political  matters — shown, 
it  may  be,  with  too  great  an  out- 
spokenness. This  outspokenness 
-^  was  displayed,  also,  in  private, 
v  and  sometimes  perhaps  too  much 
^  displayed  ;  but  every  one  must 
|x  have  the  defects  of  his  qualities, 
and  where  absolute  sincerity  ex- 
ists, it  is  certain  now  and  then 
to  cause  an  expression  of  a  feel- 
ing or  opinion  not  adequately  re- 
strained. But  the  contrast  in 
genuineness  between  him  and  the 
average  citizen  was  very  conspic- 
uous. In  a  community  of  Tyn- 
dalls  (to  make  a  wild  supposition) 
there  would  be  none  of  that  flab- 
biness  characterizing  current 
thought  and  action — no  throwing 
overboard  of  principles  elaborat- 
ed by  painful  experience  in  the 
past,  and  adoption  of  a  hand-to- 
mouth  policy  unguided  by  any 
principle.  He  was  not  the  kind 
of  man  who  would  have  voted 
for  a  bill  or  a  clause,  which  he 
secretly  believed  would  be  injuri- 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


PROFESSOR   TYNDALL  S   STUDY,    HINDHEAD    HOUSE. 


ous,  out  of  what  is  euphemistically  called 
"  party  loyalty,"  or  would  have  endeav- 
ored to  bribe  each  section  of  the  elec- 
torate by  ad  captandum  measures,  or  would 
have  hesitated  to  protect  life  and  property 
for  fear  of  losing  votes.  What  he  saw  right 
to  do  he  would  have  done,  regardless  of 
proximate  consequences. 

The  ordinary  tests  of  generosity  are 
very  defective.  As  rightly  measured, 
generosity  is  great  in  proportion  to  the 
amount  of  self-denial  entailed  ;  and  where 
ample  means  are  possessed  large  gifts 
often  entail  no  self-denial.  Far  more  self- 
denial  may  be  involved  in  the  perform- 
ance, on  another's  behalf,  of  some  act 
which  requires  time  and  labor.  In  addi- 
tion to  generosity  under  its  ordinary  form, 
which  Professor  Tyndall  displayed  in  un- 
usual degree,  he  displayed  it  under  a  less 
common  form.  He  was  ready  to  take 
much  trouble  to  help  friends.  I  have  had 
personal  experience  of  this.  Though  he 
had  always  in  hand  some  investigation  of 
great  interest  to  him,  and  though,  as  I 
have  heard  him  say,  when  he  had  bent  his 
mind  to  a  subject  he  could  not  with  any 
facility  break  off  and  resume  it  again,  yet, 
when  I  have  sought  his  scientific  aid — in- 
formation or  critical  opinion — I  never 
found  the  slightest  reluctance  to  give  me 
his  undivided  attention.  Much  more 
markedly,  however,  was  this  kind  of 
generosity  shown  in  another  direction. 
Many  men,  while  they  are  eager  for  appre- 


ciation, manifest  little  or  no  appreciation 
of  others,  and  still  less  go  out  of  their 
way  to  express  it.  With  Tyndall  it  was 
not  thus :  he  was  eager  to  recognize 
achievement.  Notably  in  the  case  of 
Faraday,  and  less  notably,  though  still 
conspicuously,  in  many  cases,  he  has  be- 
stowed much  labor  and  sacrificed  many 
weeks  in  setting  forth  others'  merits.  It 
was  evidently  a  pleasure  to  him  to  dilate 
on  the  claims  of  fellow-workers. 

But  there  was  a  derivative  form  of  this 
generosity  calling  for  still  greater  eulogy. 
He  was  not  content  with  expressing  ap- 
preciation of  those  whose  merits  were 
recognized,  but  he  spent  energy  unspar- 
ingly in  drawing  public  attention  to  those 
whose  merits  were  unrecognized  ;  and 
time  after  time,  in  championing  the  causes 
of  such,  he  was  regardless  of  the  antago- 
nisms he  aroused  and  the  evils  he  brought 
on  himself.  This  chivalrous  defence  of 
the  neglected  and  the  ill-used  has  been,  I 
think,  by  few,  if  any,  so  often  repeated.  I 
have  myself  more  than  once  benefited  by 
his  determination,  quite  spontaneously 
shown,  that  justice  should  be  done  in  the 
apportionment  of  credit  ;  and  I  have  with 
admiration  watched  like  actions  of  his  in 
other  cases — cases  in  which  no  considera- 
tion of  nationality  or  of  creed  interfered 
in  the  least  with  his  insistence  on  equita- 
ble distribution  of  honors. 

In  thus  undertaking  to  fight   for  those 


PROFESSOR  JOHN    TYNDALL. 


79 


who  were  unfairly  dealt  with,  he  displayed 
in  another  direction  that  very  conspicuous 
trait  which,  as  displayed  in  his  Alpine 
feats,  has  made  him  to  many  persons  chiefly 
known — I  mean  courage,  passing  very 
often  into  daring.  And  here  let  me,  in 
closing  this  sketch,  indicate  certain  mis- 
chiefs which  this  trait  brought  upon  him. 
Courage  grows  by  success.  The  demon- 
strated ability  to  deal  with  dangers  pro- 
duces readiness  to  meet  more  dangers,  and 
is  self-justifying  where  the  muscular  power 
and  the  nerve  habitually  prove  adequate. 
But  the  resulting  habit  of  mind  is  apt  to 
influence  conduct  in  other  spheres,  where 
muscular  power  and  nerve  are  of  no  avail 
— is  apt  to  cause  the  daring  of  dangers 
which  are  not  to  be  met  by  strength  of 
limb  or  by  skill.  Nature  as  externally 
presented  in  precipices,  ice-slopes,  and 
crevasses  may  be  dared  by  one  adequately 
endowed ;  but  Nature  as  internally  pre- 
sented in  the  form  of  physical  constitution, 
may  not  be  thus  dared  with  impunity. 
Prompted  by  high  motives,  Tyndall  tended 
too  much  to  disregard  the  protests  of  his 
body.  Over-application  in  Germany  caused 
at  one  time  absolute  sleepless- 
ness for,  I  think  he  told  me,  more 
than  a  week  ;  and  this, 
with  kindred  trans- 
gressions, brought  on 
that  insomnia  by 
which  his  after-life 
was  troubled,  and  by 
which  his  powers  of 
work  were  diminished  ;  for,  as  I  have  heard 
him  say,  a  sound  night's  sleep  was  followed 
by  marked  exaltation  of  faculty.  And 
then,  in  later  life,  came  the  daring  which, 
by  its  results,  brought  his  active  career  to 
a  close.  He  'conscientiously  desired  to 
fulfil  an  engagement  to  lecture  at  the 
Royal  Institution,  and  was  not  to  be  de- 
terred by  fear  of  consequences.  He  gave 
the  lecture,  notwithstanding  the  protest 
which  for  days  before  his  system  had  been 
making.  The  result  was  a  serious  illness, 
threatening,  as  he  thought  at  one  time,  a 
fatal  result  ;  and,  notwithstanding  a  year's 
furlough  for  the  recovery  of  health,  he 
was  eventually  obliged  to  resign  his  posi- 


tion. But  for  this  defiance  of  nature 
there  might  have  been  many  more  years 
of  scientific  exploration,  pleasurable  to 
himself  and  beneficial  to  others  ;  and  he 
might  have  escaped  that  invalid  life  which 
for  a  long  time  past  he  had  to  bear. 

In  his  case,  however,  the  penalties  of 
invalid  life  had  great  mitigations — mitiga- 
tions such  as  fall  to  the  lot  of  but -few.  It 
is  conceivable  that  the  physical  discom- 
forts and  mental  weariness  which  ill-health 
brings,  may  be  almost  compensated,  if  not 
even  quite  compensated,  by  the  pleasurable 
emotions  caused  by  unflagging  attentions 
and  sympathetic  companionship.  If  this 
ever  happens,  it  happened  in  his  case.  All 
who  have  known  the  household  during 
these  years  of  nursing  are  aware  of  the 


PROFESSOR   TVNDALL  S   COTTAGE    IN    THE   ALPS. 

unmeasured  kindness  he  has  received  with- 
out ceasing.  I  happen  to  have  had  special 
evidence  of  this  devotion  on  the  one  side 
and  gratitude  on  the  other,  which  I  do  not 
think  I  am  called  upon  to  keep  to  myself, 
but  rather  to  do  the  contrary.  In  a  letter 
I  received  from  him  some  half-dozen  years 
ago,  referring,  among  other  things,  to 
Mrs.  Tyndall's  self-sacrificing  care  of  him, 
he  wrote  :  "  She  has  raised  my  ideal  of  the 
possibilities  of  human  nature." 


CHARLES    A.    DANA    IN    HIS    OFFICE    AT    "  THE    SUN. 
(Drawn  from  life  by  Corwin  Knapp  Linson.) 


MR.    DANA    OF    "THE    SUN/' 


BY  EDWARD  P.  MITCHELL. 


KINGLAKE'S  picture  of  a  great  editor 
— the  most  famous,  if  not  the  greatest, 
editorthat  English  journalism  has  known — 
represents  a  man  wrapped  in  midnight  mys- 
tery. He  is  surrounded  by  sentinels,  and 
perpetually  absorbed  during  business  hours 
in  highly  responsible  thought.  Part  of  the 
description  of  John  T.  Delane  at  work  mak- 
ing the  next  morning's  "  Times  "  is  worth 
quoting  here,  for  it  does  not  lack  uncon- 
scious humor  : 

"  From  the  moment  of  his  entering  the 
editor's  room  until  four  or  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  the  strain  he  had  to  put  on  his 
faculties  must  have  been  always  great,  and 
in  stirring  times  almost  prodigious.  There 
were  hours  of  night  when  he  often  had  to 
decide — to  decide,  of  course,  with  great 
swiftness — between  two  or  more  courses  of 
action  momentously  different  ;  when,  be- 
sides, he  must  judge  the  appeals  brought  up 
to  the  paramount  arbiter  from  all  kinds  of 
men,  from  all  sorts  of  earthly  tribunals  ; 
when  despatches  of  moment,  when  tele- 
grams fraught  with  grave  tidings,  when 
notes  hastily  scribbled  in  the  Lords  or  Com- 
mons, were  from  time  to  time  coming  in  to 
confirm  or  disturb,  perhaps  even  to  annul, 
former  reckonings  ;  and  these,  besides,  were 
the  hours  when,  on  questions  newly  obtrud- 
ing, yet  so  closely,  so  importunately  present 
that  they  would  have  to  be  met  before  sun- 
rise, he  somehow  must  cause  to  spring  up 
sudden  essays,  invectives,  and  arguments 
which  only  strong  power  of  brain,  with  even 
much  toil,  could  supply.  For  the  delicate 
task  any  other  than  he  would  require  to  be 
in  a  state  of  tranquillity  ;  would  require  to 
have  ample  time.  But  for  him  there  are 
no  such  indulgences  ;  he  sees  the  hand  of 
the  clock  growing  more  and  more  peremp- 


tory, and  the  time  drawing  nearer  and  near- 
er when  his  paper  must,  must  be  made  up." 
No  trait  is  more  characteristic  of  Mr. 
Dana  than  his  intolerance  of  anything  like 
humbug  about  his  professional  labors  or 
methods.  For  almost  fifty  years  he  has 
managed  to  keep  easily  ahead  of  the  clock, 
and  to  meet,  without  much  personal  con- 
sciousness of  effort, all  sorts  of  new  and  sud- 
denly developed  situations  requiring  swift 
decision  as  between  courses  of  action  mo- 
mentously different.  Mr.  Dana's  own  im- 
agination has  never  decorated  with  mystic 
importance  this  power  to  dispose  rapidly 
and  accurately  of  any  newspaper  question 
that  comes  up  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or 
night.  It  has  never  seemed  remarkable  to 
him  that  he  should  be  able  to  get  out  his 
paper  morning  after  morning,  and  year 
after  year,  without  any  sense  on  his  part  of 
high  pressure  or  extraordinary  intellectual 
strain.  He  works  hard,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  it  is  quite  true  that  he  works  easily  ; 
for  he  works  with  absolute  tranquillity, 
undisturbed  by  that  most  common  and 
most  wearing  attendant  of  mental  effort,  the 
mind's  constant  recognition  of  its  own  atti- 
tude towards  the  labor  in  which  it  is  at  the 
time  engaged.  Thus  Mr.  Dana  has  always 
been  the  master,  and  not  the  slave,  of  the 
immediate  task.  The  external  features  of 
his  journalism  are  simplicity,  directness, 
common  sense,  and  the  entire  absence  of 
affectation.  He  would  no  more  think  of 
attempting  to  live  up  to  Mr.  Kinglake's 
ideal  of  a  great,  mysterious,  and  thought- 
burdened  editor,  than  of  putting  on  a  con- 
ical hat  and  a  black  robe  spangled  with 
suns,  moons,  and  stars,  when  about  to 
receive  a  visitor  to  his  editorial  office  in 
Nassau  Street. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


I. 


THE  rather  naked  little  corner  room  in 
the  "  Sun  "  Building  in  which  Mr.  Dana  has 
sat  almost  daily  for  twenty-five  years,  is  a 
surprise  to  many  persons  who  see  it  for  the 
first  time.  His  genuine  love  of  beautiful 
things,  his  disposition  to  acquire  them  if 
possible,  and  the  extraordinary  range  and 
accuracy  of  his  aesthetic  appreciations,  are 
so  widely  known  that  it  is  quite  natural  for 
those  who  do  not  understand  him  to  expect 
to  find  his  tastes  reflected  in  his  accustomed 
place  of  work.  The  room  might  be  even  barer 
than  it  is  and  yet  serve  Mr.  Dana's  purpose 
as  well  as  if  it  were  the  Gallery  of  Apollo. 
On  theother  hand,  if  hischairand  desk  were 
established  in  the  middle  of  the  vastest  and 
most  sumptuous  presence-chamber  to  be 
found  anywhere,  and  amid  a  throng  of  curi- 
ous and  noisy  onlookers,  Mr.  Dana  would 
work  on  with  the  same  tranquil  efficiency, 
providing  his  pen  did  not  splutter  and  the 
capacious  waste-basket  at  his  feet  were  emp- 
tied from  time  to  time.  The  processes  of 
his  mind  are  neither  stimulated  nor  intimi- 
dated by  the  surroundings.  The  accesso- 
ries of  luxurious  professional  habits  are 
absent  because  they  are  superfluous  to  Mr. 
Dana  ;  if  he  thought  they  would  help  him 
to  make  a  better  newspaper,  they  would  all 
be  there. 

In  the  middle  of  the  small  room  a  desk- 
table  of  black  walnut,  of  the  Fulton  Street 
style  and  the  period  of  the  first  administra- 
tion of  Grant ;  a  shabby  little  round  table  at 
the  window,  where  Mr.  Dana  sits  when  the 
day  is  dark  ;  one  leather-covered  chair, 
which  does  duty  at  either  post,  and  two 
wooden  chairs,  both  rickety,  for  visitors  on 
errands  of  business  or  ceremony  ;  on  the 
desk  a  revolving  case  with  a  few  dozen 
books  of  reference ;  an  ink-pot  and  pen,  not 
much  used  except  in  correcting  manuscript 
or  proofs,  for  Mr.  Dana  talks  off  to  a  stenog- 
rapher his  editorial  articles  and  his  corre- 
spondence, sometimes  spending  on  the  re- 
vision of  the  former  twice  as  much  time  as 
was  required  for  the  dictation  ;  a  window 
seat  filled  with  exchanges,  marked  here  and 
there  in  blue  pencil  for  the  editor's  eyes  ;  a 
big  pair  of  shears,  and  two  or  three  extra 
pairs  of  spectacles  in  cache  against  an  emer- 
gency :  these  few  items  constitute  what  is 
practically  the  whole  objective  equipment 
of  the  editor  of  "  The  Sun."  The  shears 
are  probably  the  newest  article  of  furniture 
in  the  list.  They  replaced,  three  or  four 
years  ago,  another  pair  of  unknown  antiq- 
uity, besought  and  obtained  by  Eugene 
Field,  and  now  occupying,  alongside  of  Mr. 


Gladstone's  axe,  the  place  of  honor  in  that 
poet's  celebrated  collection  of  edged  instru- 
ments. 

For  the  non-essentials,  the  little  trapezoid- 
shaped  room  contains  a  third  table,  holding 
a  file  of  the  newspaper  for  a  few  weeks  back, 
and  a  heap  of  new  books  which  have  passed 
review  ;  an  iron  umbrella  rack  ;  on  the  floor 
a  cheap  Turkish  rug  ;  and  a  lounge  covered 
with  horse-hide,  upon  which  Mr.  Dana  de- 
scends for  a  five  minutes'  nap  perhaps  five 
times  a  year.  The  adornments  of  the  room 
are  mostly  accidental  and  insignificant. 
Ages  ago  somebody  presented  to  Mr.  Dana, 
with  symbolic  intent,  a  large  stuffed  owl. 
The  bird  of  wisdom  remains  by  inertia  on 
top  of  the  revolving  book-case,  just  as  it 
would  have  remained  there  had  it  been  a 
stuffed  cat  or  a  statuette  of  Folly.  Unno- 
ticed and  probably  long  ago  forgotten  by 
its  proprietor,  the  owl  solemnly  boxes  the 
compass  as  Mr.  Dana  swings  the  case,  reach- 
ing in  quick  succession  for  his  Bible,  his 
Portuguese  dictionary,  his  compendium  of 
botanical  terms,  or  his  copy  of  the  Demo- 
cratic National  Platform  of  1892.  On  the 
mantelpiece  is  an  ugly,  feather-haired  little 
totem  figure  from  Alaska,  which  likewise 
keeps  its  place  solely  by  possession.  It 
stands  between  a  photograph  of  Chester  A. 
Arthur,  whom  Mr.  Dana  liked  and  admired 
as  a  man  of  the  world,  and  the  japanned  cal- 
endar case  which  has  shown  him  the  time  of 
year  for  tfye  last  quarter  of  a  century.  A 
dingy  chromo-lithograph  of  Prince  von  Bis- 
marck stands  shoulder  to  shoulder  with 
George,  the  Count  Joannes. 

The  same  mingling  of  sentiment  and  pure 
accident  marks  the  rest  of  Mr.  Dana's  pict- 
ure gallery.  There  is  a  large  and  excellent 
photograph  of  Horace  Greeley,  who  is  held 
in  half-affectionate,  half-humorous  remem- 
brance by  his  old  associate  in  the  manage- 
ment of  "  The  Tribune."  Another  is  of  the 
late  Justice  Blatchford  of  the  United  States 
Supreme  Court ;  it  is  the  strong  face  of  the 
fearless  judge  whose  decision  from  the  Fed- 
eral bench  in  New  York  twenty  years  ago 
blocked  the  attempt  to  drag  Mr.  Dana  be- 
fore a  servile  little  court  in  Washington,  to 
be  tried  without  a  jury  on  a  charge  of  crim- 
inal libel,  at  the  time  when  "  The  Sun  "  was 
demolishing  the  District  ring.  Over  the 
mantel  is  Abraham  Lincoln.  There  are  pict- 
ures of  the  four  Harper  brothers  and  of  the 
five  Appletons.  Andrew  Jackson  is  there 
twice,  once  in  black  and  white,  once  in  vivid 
colors.  An  inexpensive  Thomas  Jefferson 
faces  the  livelier  Jackson.  A  framed  diplo- 
ma certifies  that  Mr.  Dana  was  one  of  sev- 
eral gentlemen  who  presented  to  the  State 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN." 


t 


8%^^'^iilpB  Ti1?:-    • 


CITY    HALL    PARK    AND    PRINTING    HOUSE    SQUARE. 


a  portrait  in  oils  of  Samuel  J.  Tilden.  On 
different  sides  of  the  room  are  William  T. 
Coleman,  the  organizer  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco Vigilantes,  and  a  crude  colored  print 
of  the  Haifa  colony  at  the  foot  of  Mount 
Carmel,  in  Syria.  Strangest  of  all  in  this 
singular  collection  is  a  photograph  of  a  tall, 
lank,  and  superior-looking  New  England 
mill  girl,  issued  as  an  advertisement  by  some 
Connecticut  concern  engaged  in  the  manu- 
facture of  spool  cotton.  For  a  good  many 
years  the  most  available  wall  space  in  Mr. 
Dana's  office  was  occupied  by  a  huge  paste- 
board chart,  showing  elaborately,  in  deadly 
parallel  columns,  the  differences  in  the  laws 
of  the  several  States  of  the  Union  respecting 
divorce.  It  was  put  there,  and  it  remained 
there,  serving  no  earthly  purpose  except  to 
illustrate  the  editor's  indifference  as  to  his 
immediate  surroundings,until  it  disappeared 
as  mysteriously  as  it  had  come.  Mr.  Dana's 
divorce  chart  may  have  been  stolen,  but 
Superintendent  Byrnes  was  not  consulted. 
Thus  far  in  deference  to  Mr.  McClure's  re- 
spect for  objective  detail,  as  throwing  light 
on  character.  After  this  hasty  but  approxi- 
mately complete  catalogue,  it  is  needless  to 


remark  that  the  scheme  of  decoration  car- 
ried out  in  the  workroom  of  the  foremost 
personage  and  most  interesting  figure  in 
American  journalism  would  indicate  to  no- 
body that  the  occupant  of  the  room  knew 
Manet  from  Monet,  or  old  Persian  lustre 
from  Gubbio. 

From  the  windows  of  his  room  in  the 
dwarf  "  Sun"  Building,  the  old  Tammany 
Hall  in  Park  Row,  Mr.  Dana  can  look  out 
and  up  to  the  sky-high  edifices  built  all 
around  him  by  his  esteemed  contemporaries 
during  recent  years.  He  is  perfectly  con- 
tent to  work  on,  as  he  has  worked  in  this 
same  block  between  Spruce  Street  and 
Frankfort  almost  continuously  since  Feb- 
ruary, 1846,  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  as  far 
as  externals  are  concerned.  The  absence 
of  ostentation  that  distinguishes  his  profes-' 
sional  methods  and  habits  extends  to  the 
whole  establishment.  While  the  "  Sun " 
Building,  as  a  workshop,  lacks  no  modern 
appliance  or  mechanical  improvement  that 
contributes  to  the  production  of  a  great 
daily  newspaper,  there  are  few  journals  less 
impressively  housed,  even  in  the  smaller 
cities  of  the  United  States. 


84 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


II. 


INTO  the  corner  room  described,  there 
swings  nearly  every  morning  in  the  year 
a  man  of  seventy-five,  looking  fifteen  years 
younger;  largely  built,  square-framed,  with 
a  step  as  firm  as  a  sea  captain's  ;  vigor- 
ous, sometimes  to  abruptness,  in  his  bodily 
movements,  but  deliberate  and  gentle  in  his 
speech  ;  dressed  always  in  such  a  way  that 
his  clothes  seem  to  belong  to  him  and  not 
he  to  them  ;  with  strong  brown  hands, 
rather  large,  which  do  not  tremble  as  they 
hold  book  or  paper;  and  a  countenance, 
familiar  to  most  Americans  through  por- 
traits or  caricatures,  whose  marked  feat- 
ures the  caricaturists  distort  in  various 
whimsical  ways  without  ever  succeeding  in 
making  the  face  seem  either  ridiculous  or 
ignoble.  Mr.  Dana's  full  beard  is  trimmed 
more  closely  than  in  former  years.  It 
ranks  as  snow  white  only  by  courtesy;  the 
last  strongholds  of  the  pigment  are  not 
yet  conquered. 

The  impression  which  Mr.  Dana  makes 
upon  those  who  come  into  contact  with  him 
personally,  for  the  first  time  or  the  fortieth, 
is  that  of  vigorous  and  sympathetic  good 
will,  both  desirous  and  capable  of  pleasing. 
He  is  frank  and  engaging  in  conversation, 
and  the  wonderful  range  of  his  intellectual 
interests  makes  him  equally  ready  to  learn 
or  to  communicate.  Men  who  seek  him 
merely  to  measure  their  wits  against  his 
for  a  purpose,  often  go  away  charmed  with 
their  reception  and  well  satisfied  with  re- 
sults until  they  begin  to  reckon  at  a  dis- 
tance what  has  actually  been  accomplished 
by  the  interview.  If  shrewd  kindness 
beams  on  the  stranger  through  one  of  the 
two  lenses  of  his  gold-bowed  spectacles, 
kind  shrewdness  is  alert  behind  the  other 
glass.  He  has  learned  how  to  say  No 
when  necessary,  and  even  to  say  it  in  ital- 
ics; but  he  has  never  learned  how  to  say 
an  inconsiderate  thing. 

A  very  observant  Frenchman  once  re- 
marked about  Mr.  Dana  :  "  He  is  one  of  the 
few  men  over  sixty  I  have  known  who  re- 
member the  way  to  blush.  The  only  times 
I  have  seen  Mr.  Dana  blush  have  been 
when  something  discourteous  was  said  or 
done  in  his  presence,  too  trivial  to  call  for 
direct  rebuke." 

The  physical  vitality  which  has  served 
Mr.  Dana  so  well  through  life  that  he  has 
never  experienced  a  single  hour  of  serious 
illness,  and  which  brings  him  to  his  desk 
now  at  seventy-five  with  as  keen  a  joy  for 
the  day's  work  and  the  day's  fun  as  that  of 
any  youth  under  his  command,  is  the  most 


obvious  and  the  least  important  factor.  It 
accounts,  perhaps,  for  the  occasional  blush 
which  the  French  gentleman  noted,  for  the 
heartiness  of  his  hand-grasp,  and  in  a  meas- 
ure for  the  general  cheerfulness  of  the  view 
he  habitually  takes  of  life  ;  but  inveterate 
health  is  by  no  means  a  possession  peculiar 
to  the  editor  of  "The  Sun."  Nor  is  the 
analysis  which  goes  into  the  questions  of 
a  man's  diet  and  hours  of  sleep,  in  order  to 
ascertain  the  secret  of  his  genius,  likely  to 
be  rewarding  in  its  results.  Mr.  Dana  uses 
no  tobacco,  but  that  is  not  the  reason  why 
he  is  superior  to  petulance  and  never  frets 
himself  under  any  circumstances,  whatever 
his  mood.  He  knows  wine,  and  respects 
it  and  himself;  but  that  is  not  the  reason 
why  he  knows  at  a  glance  good  poetry 
from  bad,  even  if  the  good  be  disguised 
in  cramped  handwriting  and  words  mis- 
spelled, while  the  bad  is  displayed  in  typog- 
raphy beautiful  to  see.  He  prefers  the 
mushroom  to  mush  and  milk,  being  both  a 
connoisseur  and  a  cultivator  of  the  former  ; 
but  that  is  not  the  reason  why,  as  a  journal- 
ist, his  perception  of  the  interesting,  the 
unexpected,  the  refreshing,  has  not  been 
dulled  by  fifty  years'  exercise.  First,  a 
natural,  God-given  faculty  for  the  acquisi- 
tion, the  discrimination,  and  the  dissemina- 
tion of  facts  and  ideas ;  secondly,  a  life 
uncommonly  rich  and  varied  in  its  ac- 
quaintance with  men  and  its  experience  of 
affairs  :  these  are  the  lines  of  inquiry  to  be 
pursued  by  any  one  who  is  curious  for  an 
explanation  of  the  success  of  Mr.  Dana's 
career,  and  the  incalculable  influence  of 
his  mind  upon  the  general  progress  and 
special  methods  of  American  journalism 
during  the  long  period  of  his  activity  in 
that  profession. 

Mr.  Dana  was  born  with  a  voracious 
intellectual  appetite,  which  has  remained 
healthy  and  insatiate  all  of  his  life.  He 
shrinks  at  nothing  short  of  actual  dulness, 
or  literary  deformity  so  marked  as  to  be 
repulsive.  He  is  a  tireless  reader  of  books, 
magazines,  and  journals  in  many  languages. 
Whether  print  or  manuscript  comes  under 
his  eyes,  he  takes  in  the  ideas  seemingly  by 
whole  paragraphs,  rather  than  by  words,, 
lines,  or  even  sentences.  Unlike  most  other 
very  rapid  readers  that  I  have  known,  he 
does  not  merely  sample  the  page  or  the 
chapter  or  the  book.  A  glance  through 
his  glasses  seems  to  establish  a  circuit 
which  at  once  puts  his  brain  in  possession 
not  only  of  the  essential  facts,  but  also  of 
any  refinement  of  style  that  may  be  there, 
or  any  novel  or  felicitous  verbal  formula, 
no  matter  how  inconspicuous.  When  he 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN" 


closes  the  book  or  throws  aside  the  news- 
paper, the  probability  is  small  that  he  has 
missed  anything  worth  having.  This  pro- 
cess of  acquisition  has  been  going  on  with- 
out a  break  and  with  constantly  increasing 
speed  ever  since  his  early  boyhood.  It  is 
supported  by  a  memory  which  selects  with 
discrimination  and  then  retains  with  ten- 
acity. 

III. 

MR.  DANA  was  two  years  old  when  he  left 
the  town  of  his  birth,  Hinsdale,  New  Hamp- 
shire. His  childhood  was  spent  at  Gaines, 
on  the  Erie  Canal,  in  Orleans  County,  New 
York  State,  in  Buffalo,  and  at  Guildhall, 
Vermont.  One  of  his  earliest  recollections 
is  of  running  away  from  home  in  Buffalo  at 
the  age  of  three,  and  going  down  to  the 
lake  to  see  the  first  steamboat  come  in. 
He  got  himself  very  muddy,  and  on  his  re- 
turn his  mother  tied  him  to  the  well-post 
with  her  garter. 

At  Gaines  he  attended  the  district  school 
during  two  winter  sessions,  and  picked  up 
what  he  could  find,  openly  or  by  stratagem, 
in  the  limited  literature  within  his  reach. 
"  The  first  book  I  remember  reading,"  he 
says,  "  was  Miss  Porter's  '  Thaddeus  of 
Warsaw.'  That  romance  made  an  extraor- 
dinary impression  on  my  mind.  I  must 
have  been  five  years  old,  certainly  not  more 
than  six.  '  Thaddeus  '  was  not  considered 
as  a  suitable  book  for  me  ;  it  was  kept 


stowed  away  in  a  drawer  of  my  mother's 
bureau.  I  discovered  it  there,  and  read  it 
on  foot  from  beginning  to  end  in  short  in- 
stallments, standing  over  the  open  book  in 
the  open  drawer,  crying  hard  at  the  pathetic 
passages,  but  always  ready  to  push  the 
drawer  to  and  run  if  I  heard  anybody  com- 
ing. It  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  great  story." 

The  favorite  books  of  Mr.  Dana's  boy- 
hood were  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  "  Robin- 
son Crusoe,"  and,  later,  "  Ivanhoe."  He 
read  them  over  and  over  again  until  he 
almost  knew  them  by  heart.  When  he  was 
eleven  he  returned  to  Buffalo  to  be  a  clerk 
in  his  uncle's  dry  goods  and  notions  store. 
"  I  was  pretty  good,"  he  says,  "  at  selling 
stuff,  and  quick  at  figures  and  in  making 
change."  For  seven  years  he  clerked  it, 
occupying  his  scant  leisure  with  miscella- 
neous reading,  but  touching  no  school 
books  until  he  was  almost  nineteen.  His 
uncle  failed  in  business  in  1837,  and  the 
future  of  Mr.  Dana's  mercantile  career  be- 
came clouded.  He  remained  in  Buffalo  for 
two  years  longer,  helping  to  settle  up  the 
affairs  of  the  establishment,  and  meanwhile 
preparing  himself  for  college.  "  I  was  just 
about  nineteen  when  I  tackled  the  Latin 
grammar  and  musa,  musce,  musce,  musam.  I 
found  the  utmost  difficulty  in  remembering 
the  paradigms.  Nothing  but  the  steadiest 
determination  kept  my  nose  to  that  book." 

Two  winter  terms  in  a  country  district 
school  and  two  years  in  college  consti- 


THE   APPROACH    TO    DOSORIS    ISLAND,  MR.  DANA'S    SUMMER    HOME. 


86 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


tuted  the  whole  of  Mr.  Dana's  experience 
of  any  system  of  education  in  which  he 
himself  was  not  master  as  well  as  pupil. 
He  entered  Harvard  in  1839  at  the  age  of 
twenty.  His  eyesight  was  seriously  affected 
by  too  close  application,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  leave  his  class  at  the  end  of  the  sopho- 
more year.  Mr.  Dana  would  have  been 
graduated  in  1843.  Although  he  was  pre- 
vented from  completing  the  course,  the 
university  afterward  gave  him  his  degree. 
His  name  appears  in  the  triennial  cata- 
logue, and  last  year  he  met  his  old  class- 
mates in  Boston  to  celebrate  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  the  class  of  1843. 

While  at  Cambridge  Mr.  Dana  was  a 
hard  student.  He  so  far  overcame  the  first 
repugnance  with  which  paradigms  of  de- 
clension or  conjugation  inspired  him,  as 
to  conceive  a  marked  and  genuine  fondness 
for  the  acquisition  of  other  languages  than 
English,  living  and  dead.  No  year  has 
passed  during  his  busy  life  without  adding 
to  his  stock  of  languages,  or  increasing 
his  familiarity  with  some  of  those  which 
he  has  already  partially  acquired.  Most 
spoken  languages  except  the  Slavonic  and 
the  Oriental  are  at  his  command  ;  and  he 
has  but  just  now  started  on  Russian.  He 
is  restless  so  long  as  something  which  he 
really  wants  to  know  remains  behind  a  cur- 
tain of  words  which  he  does  not  compre- 
hend. An  accidental  circumstance,  a 
chance  reference,  impatience  with  an  ob- 
viously imperfect  translation,  may  direct 
his  attention  to  some  tongue  or  some  dia- 
lect which  he  has  not  yet  checked  off. 
Then  he  turns  to  with  grammar  and  dic- 
tionary, and  is  not  satisfied  until  his  mas- 
tery of  that  particular  medium  of  thought 
is  sufficient  for  practical  purposes.  Many 
visitors  to  the  "  Sun  "  office  have  found 
Mr.  Dana  bending  over  text-book  and  lexi- 
con, and  working  away  with  the  energy  of 
a  freshman  who  has  only  half  an  hour  be- 
fore Greek  recitation.  Such  visitors  have 
seen  the  editor  in  some  of  his  happiest 
moments. 

Curiosity  concerning  the  Norwegian-Ice- 
landic literature  led  Mr.  Dana,  years  ago, 
to  a  systematic  and  persistent  study  of  the 
old  Norse.  That  and  its  surviving  Scan- 
dinavian kindred  have  long  been  a  favorite 
occupation  with  him.  He  reads  the  Sagas 
and  Henrik  Ibsen's  last  play  with  equal 
readiness,  although  not  with  equal  rever- 
ence. In  the  whole  range  of  classic  litera- 
ture, next  to  the  Bible,  for  which  his  ad- 
miration is  profound  and  unaffected,  the 
"  Divine  Comedy  "  perhaps  holds  the  first 
place  in  his  esteem.  He  began  to  read 


Dante  in  the  original  in  1862,  taking  it  up 
for  the  benefit  of  -his  eldest  daughter,  and 
afterward  accompanying  his  other  children 
in  turn  through  the  incomparable  poem. 
His  Dante  classes  have  included  some  very 
distinguished  men,  and  have  given  him 
great  pleasure.  Mr.  Dana's  study  of  Dante 
has  been  almost  continuous  for  thirty  years. 
He  has  accumulated  an  extensive  and  valu- 
able Dante  library.  One  could  scarcely 
quote  a  line  in  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  which 
Mr.  Dana  would  not  immediately  place. 
When  the  editor  of  "  The  Sun  "met  Pope 
Leo  XIII.  a  few  years  ago  in  the  Vatican 
Palace,  two  most  accomplished  Dante  schol- 
ars came  together,  and  they  exchanged 
ideas  on  doubtful  readings  upon  equal 
terms  and  with  mutual  satisfaction. 

IV. 

AFTER  leaving  Harvard  the  need  of  out- 
of-door  life  and  the  prospect  of  intellectual 
companionship,  at  a  time  when  books  were 
forbidden  to  him  by  the  oculists,  turned  Mr. 
Dana  to  the  Brook  Farm  Association  for 
Agriculture  and  Education,  then  recently 
established  in  West  Roxbury.  In  that  re- 
markable attempt  to  combine  high  ideals 
of  thought  and  conduct  with  the  manipula- 
tion of  fertilizers  and  the  cultivation  of 
vegetables,  Mr.  Dana  was  associated  with 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  Margaret  Fuller, 
George  William  Curtis,  A.  Bronson  Alcott, 
William  Henry  Channing,  George  and  So- 
phia Ripley,  and  others.  Theodore  Parker, 
as  pastor  of  the  Unitarian  Church  in  West 
Roxbury,  was  in  close  touch  with  the  com- 
munity. Mr.  Dana's  share  in  the  division 
of  labor  was  the  management  of  the  fruit 
department. 

The  history  of  the  Brook  Farm  experi- 
ment, notable  because  of  its  relation  to  the 
intellectual  movement  in  New  England  at 
that  time,  as  well  as  for  the  distinction  sub- 
sequently attained  by  most  of  those  who 
held  hoes  or  milked  cows  in  its  service,  is 
not  likely  to  be  written  by  any  one  directly 
informed.  Nearly  all  of  the  Associates 
have  passed  away  without  recording  their 
reminiscences  of  Brook  Farm.  Hawthorne's 
tale  is  avowedly  a  fanciful  picture.  In  the 
preface  to  the  "  Blithedale  Romance"  he 
appealed  to  Mr.  Dana  to  preserve  for  the 
public  both  the  outward  narrative  and  the 
inner  truth  and  spirit  of  the  whole  affair. 
That  was  in  1852  ;  there  has  been  no  re- 
sponse yet,  and  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Dana 
will  ever  find  time  to  chronicle  Brook  Farm. 
A  gentleman  now  living  in  the  West,  who  as 
a  boy  was  placed  by  his  parents  under  the 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN." 


tutelage  of  the  philosophers  of  the  com- 
munity, once  told  me  that  he  remembered 
Dana  as  the  sole  person  connected  with  the 
enterprise  who  showed  any  real  talent  for 
farming,  or  manifested  much  practical  saga- 
city in  affairs  generally. 

In  one  way  Brook  Farm  determined  Mr. 
Dana's  career  ;  for  while  a  member  of  that 


journalism  has  been  unbroken,  except  dur- 
ing the  period  of  the  Civil  War. 

Elizur  Wright,  better  remembered  in  Bos- 
ton as  an  insurance  actuary  than  as  a  news- 
paper editor,  used  to  tell  one  story  about 
the  youth  whom  he  hired  to  help  him  run 
"  The  Chronotype."  It  was  an  orthodox 
newspaper,  and  a  great  favorite  with  the 


A   GATEWAY   AT   DOSORIS. 


celebrated  community  he  had  a  part  in  the 
management  of  a  publication  called  "The 
Harbinger,"  devoted  to  social  reform, 
transcendental  philosophy,  and  general  lit- 
erature. In  1844,  when  the  condition  of  his 
eyesight  permitted  him  to  go  to  work  in 
earnest,  he  obtained  a  place  under  Elizur 
Wright  on  "  The  Boston  Chronotype,"  a 
daily  newspaper  ;  and  from  that  time,  just 
fifty  years  ago,  his  connection  with  daily 


Congregational  ministers  of  Massachusetts 
and  the  adjoining  States.  Mr.  Wright  went 
away  for  a  few  days,  leaving  his  assistant 
in  control.  "  During  my  absence,"  said 
Wright,"  'The  Chronotype'came  out  mighty 
strong  editorially  against  hell,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  subscribers  and  the  conster- 
nation of  the  responsible  editor.  When 
I  got  back  I  was  obliged  to  write  a  per- 
sonal letter  to  every  Congregational  min- 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


ister  in  the  State,  and  to  many  deacons, 
explaining  that  the  paper  had  been  left 
in  charge  of  a  young  man  without  mel- 
low journalistic  experience.  Dana  always 
had  a  weakness  for  giving  people  with 
fixed  convictions  something  new  to  think 
about." 

"  On  '  The  Chronotype,'  "  says  Mr.  Dana 
himself,  "I  wrote  editorials  on  all  sorts  of 
subjects,  read  the  exchanges,  edited  the 
news,  did  almost  everything,  and  drew  five 
dollars  a  week.  Then  I  left  Boston  to 
better  myself,  and  came  on  to  New  York, 
where  '  The  Tribune '  gave  me  ten  dollars 
as  city  editor.  That  was  in  February, 
1847".  Along  in  the  autumn  I  struck,  and 
Greeley  made  it  fourteen  dollars.  So  it 
went  on  until  the  French  Revolution  of 
1848.  I  went  to  Greeley  and  told  him  I 
wanted  to  go  to  Europe  for  the  newspaper. 
He  said  :  '  Dana,  that's  no  use.  You  don't 
know  anything  about  European  matters. 
You  would  have  to  get  your  education  be- 
fore your  correspondence  was  worth  your 
expenses.'  Then  I  asked  him  how  much 
he  would  pay  me  for  a  letter  a  week.  '  Ten 
dollars,'  he  said.  I  went  across  and  wrote 
one  letter  a  week  to  '  The  Tribune  '  for  ten  ; 
one  to  McMichael's  Philadelphia  '  North 
American'  for  ten ;  one  to  '  The  Commercial 
Advertiser '  in  New  York  for  ten  ;  and  to 
'  The  Harbinger '  and  'The  Chronotype'  one 
apiece  for  five.  That  gave  me  forty  dollars 
a  week  for  five  letters,  until  '  The  Chrono-: 
type '  went  up,  and  then  I  had  thirty-five. 
On  this  I  lived  in  Europe  eight  months, 
went  everywhere,  saw  plenty  of  revolu- 
tions, supported  myself  there  and  my  fam- 
ily here  in  New  York,  and  came  home 
only  sixty-three  dollars  out  for  the  whole 
trip."  Mr.  Dana  had  married,  in  1846, 
Miss  Eunice  Macdaniel,  who  then  lived  in 
Walker  Street,  New  York. 

"  On  returning  from  Europe,"  Mr.  Dana 
went  on,  continuing  the  narrative  of  his 
early  journalism  in  the  financial  aspect 
personal  to  himself,  "  I  went  back  to  '  The 
Tribune  '  at  twenty  dollars  a  week.  That 
and  twenty-five  dollars  were  the  figures  for 
a  long  time  ;  in  fact,  until  another  news- 
paper offered  me  one  hundred.  I  went  to 
'  The  Tribune '  people  and  told  them  I 
couldn't  afford  to  stay  at  twenty-five. 
They  reminded  me  gently  that  Mr.  Greeley 
drew  only  fifty  dollars;  it  clearly  wouldn't 
do  for  me  to  get  more  than  he  had.  So 
they  gave  me  fifty,  the  same  as  Horace 
had,  and  that  was  the  highest  salary  I  ever 
received  on  '  The  Tribune.'  I  worked  for 
fifty  until  I  went  into  the  War  Department 
with  Stanton." 


V. 


IN  the  "Tribune"  establishment,  dur- 
ing the  exciting  ten  years  that  prepared 
for  and  ushered  in  the  Civil  War,  Mr.  Dana 
supplied  the  journalistic  qualities  which 
Mr.  Greeley  lacked.  Every  newspaper 
man  understands  that  while  Horace  Gree- 
ley was  a  great  genius,  with  a  power  of 
writing  that  drove  thought  home  with  a 
force  and  a  piquancy  unsurpassed,  he  was 
not  a  great  editor  in  the  proper  sense  of 
the  word.  Dana,  with  his  wider  range  of 
intellectual  interest,  his  more  accurate 
sense  of  news  perspective,  his  saner  and 
steadier  judgment  of  men  and  events,  and 
his  vastly  superior  executive  ability,  im- 
pressed his  own  personality  upon  the 
journal  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  pro- 
prietors, and  more  than  nominally  the 
managing  editor. 

The  brilliant  staff  which  Mr.  Greeley  and 
Mr.  Dana  gathered  around  them  during  the 
long  fight  against  the  extension  of  slavery, 
and  for  the  organization  of  that  sentiment 
in  the  North  which  gave  birth  to  the 
Republican  party,  included  among  other 
writers  Bayard  Taylor,  George  Ripley, 
William  Henry  Fry,  Richard  Hildreth  the 
historian,  the  Count  Adam  Gurowski,  and 
James  S.  Pike.  The  private  letters  from 
Greeley  and  Dana  published  by  Mr.  Pike 
some  years  before  his  death,  in  a  volume 
entitled  "  First  Blows  of  the  Civil  War,." 
and  those  letters  of  Greeley  to  Dana  which 
have  found  their  way  into  print,  sketch  the 
inner  workings  of  the  "Tribune"  office 
during  this  most  interesting  period.  The 
"Tribune"  men  were  dead  in  earnest,  work- 
ing both  for  a  great  principle  and  for 
newspaper  fortune.  Greeley,  uneven  in 
temperament,  is  seen  alternating  between 
enthusiasm  and  despondency  ;  sometimes 
putting  in  the  heaviest  licks,  sometimes 
dispirited  almost  to  hopelessness  in  face 
of  the  South,  and  harassed  by  the  cranks 
and  impracticables  at  the  North.  "  At  the 
outset,"  writes  the  Hon.  Henry  Wilson  in 
his  "  Rise  and  Fall  of  the  "  Slave  Power, 
"  Mr.  Greeley  seemed  disinclined  to  enter 
the  contest.  He  told  his  associates  that 
he  would  not  restrain  them,  but,  as  for 
himself,  he  had  no  heart  for  the  strife." 

Dana,  the  central  figure  in  the  activity  of 
the  establishment,  overflowing  with  vital- 
ity, enterprise,  and  pertinacious  cheerful- 
ness, lived  ten  lives  in  the  ten  years  that 
carried  him  from  thirty  to  forty.  We  see 
him  prodding  the  sluggards  and  holding 
back  the  over-hasty  ;  taking  the  whole  re- 
sponsibility on  his  shoulders  during  Gree- 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN." 


89 


#$a.cr.c.~; 


MR.  DANA  S   HOUSE   ON    DOSORIS    ISLAND    AS   SEEN    FROM    THE    DRIVEWAY. 


ley's  protracted  vacations  in  Europe  ;  rush- 
ing off  to  the  stump  for  some  favorite  Free 
Soil  candidate  ;  laying  plans  to  gratify  his 
chief's  tacit  but  unconquerable  desire  for 
public  office  ;  arranging  newspaper  com- 
binations in  New  York,  and  sending  "  The 
Weekly  Tribune  "  up  to  two  hundred  and 
eighty  thousand  among  the  farmers  of  the 
Northern  States  ;  rinding  fun  in  every  new 
phase  of  politics,  while  keeping  the  paper 
straight  on  its  course  as  the  leading  organ 
of  anti-slavery  sentiment,  and  working 
night  and  day  with  as  serious  a  purpose  as 
ever  animated  any  journalist ;  and  in  brief 
intervals  of  leisure  running  down  to  his 
family  at  Westport,  and  writing  thence  such 
descriptions  of  tranquil  domesticity  as  this  : 
"  I  have  been  busy  with  my  children, 
driving  them  about  in  old  Bradley's  one- 
horse  wagon,  rowing  and  sailing  with  them 
on  the  bay  and  Sound,  gathering  shells 
on  the  shore  with  them,  picking  cherries, 
lounging  on  the  grass,  gazing  into  the  sky 
with  the  whole  tribe  about  me.  Who'd 
think  of  paying  notes  under  such  circum- 
stances ?  There's  no  delight  like  that  in 
a  pack  of  young  children — of  your  own. 
Love  is  selfish,  friendship  is  exacting,  but 
this  other  affection  gives  all  and  asks  noth- 
ing. The  man  who  hasn't  half  a  dozen 
young  children  about  him  must  have  a 


very  mean  conception  of  life.  Besides, 
there  ought  always  to  be  a  baby  in  every 
house.  A  house  without  a  baby  is  in- 
human." 

It  was  during  these  crowded  years  just 
before  the  war  that  Mr.  Dana  found  time 
to  project  and  produce,  in  connection  with 
Mr.  Ripley,  the  "  American  Cyclopedia," 
an  undertaking  that  involved  on  his  part 
an  amount  of  editorial  labor  that  would 
have  seemed  formidable  to  any  other  man. 
While  this  tremendous  job  was  still  in 
hand,  he  prepared  and  published  the  first 
edition  of  his  "  Household  Book  of  Poetry," 
one  of  the  best  anthologies  in  existence, 
shaped  by  a  catholic  taste  and  a  genuine 
love  of  poetry.  Few  books  have  gone  into 
more  American  homes,  or  counted  more  for 
sound  education  and  continuing  pleasure. 

In  the  last  year  of  Mr.  Dana's  fifteen 
years'  connection  with  "  The  Tribune,"  he 
made  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  put  Horace 
Greeley  in  the  place  wherein  that  sage 
fancied  he  would  be  most  useful  to  his 
country  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  the  Senate  of 
the  United  States.  The  most  important 
consequence  of  the  estrangement  which 
had  brought  about  the  dissolution  of  the 
political  firm  of  Seward,  Weed  and  Greeley, 
had  been  the  defeat  of  Seward  at  Chicago, 
and  the  nomination  of  Abraham  Lincoln  ; 


9o 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


a  fortunate  event  largely,  if  not  princi- 
pally, due  to  the  attitude  of  the  "  Tribune" 
men  towards  Seward.  Early  in  the  spring 
of  1860,  Greeley  was  privately  offering  to 
bet  twenty  dollars  against  Seward's  nomi- 
nation, and  was  defining  his  own  position 
in  this  philosophic,  if  somewhat  profane, 
fashion  : 

"  I  don't  care  what  is  done  about  the 
nomination.  I  know  what  ought  to  be 
done  ;  and  having  set  that  forth,  am  con- 
tent. I  stand  in  the  position  of  the  rich  old 
fellow  who,  having  built  a  church  entirely 
out  of  his  own  means,  addressed  his  towns- 
men thus  : 

"  '  I've  built  you  a  meeting-house, 

And  bought  you  a  bell ; 
Now  go  to  meeting, 
Or  go  to  h — ! '  " 

The  next  year  the  New  York  Legislature 
had  to  elect  a  senator  to  succeed  Mr.  Sew- 
ard, then  already  chosen  by  Mr.  Lincoln 
to  be  his  Secretary  of  State.  Mr.  Dana 
went  to  Albany  in  Greeley's  interest,  and 
managed  a  campaign  which  nearly  resulted 
in  his  nomination  by  the  Republican  caucus. 
The  vote  was  almost  equally  divided  be- 
tween Mr.  Greeley's  friends  and  those  of 
Mr.  William  Maxwell  Evarts  ;  while  a  few 
legislators,  pledged  to  Judge  Ira  Harris, 
held  the  balance  of  power.  Thurlow  Weed 
defeated  Greeley  by  procuring  the  transfer 
of  the  entire  Evarts  vote  to  Judge  Harris, 
an  achievement  which  partially  squared  the 
Chicago  account,  and  which  is  interesting 
as  the  last  incident  of  a  famous  political 
quarrel. 

Mr.  Dana  withdrew  from  "  The  Tribune  " 
on  April  i,  1862.  His  resignation  as  man- 
aging editor  was  due  to  a  radical  disagree- 
ment between  Mr.  Greeley  and  himself  as 
to  the  newspaper's  policy  with  regard  to 
the  conduct  of  the  war.  Mr.  Dana  was 
immediately  asked  by  Secretary  Stanton  to 
go  to  Cairo  to  examine  and  settle  the  ac- 
counts of  the  Quartermaster's  Department. 
The  job  involved  the  investigation  of  tan- 
gled and  disputed  claims  against  the  Gov- 
ernment,amounting  to  between  one  and  two 
millions  of  dollars.  By  far  the  larger  part 
of  the  claims  were  found  to  be  unsound, 
and  were  rejected.  This  work,  and  other 
special  work  of  importance  to  which  Stan- 
ton  at  once  assigned  Mr.  Dana,  led  to  his 
appointment  as  Assistant  Secretary  of  War, 
an  office  which  he  held  until  the  end  of 
hostilities. 

VI. 

MR.  DANA'S  services  as  Assistant  Secre- 
tary of  War  are  matters  of  public  history, 


and  need  be  related  here  only  so  far  as  they 
illustrate  the  character  of  the  man,  or  help 
to  describe  the  perimeter  of  his  many-sided 
experience. 

Mr.  Lincoln  once  defined  one  of  Mr. 
Dana's  functions  during  the  war  period  by 
styling  him  "the  eyes  of  the  Government 
at  the  front."  For  perhaps  a  third  of  the 
whole  time  between  his  appointment  as 
Assistant  Secretary  of  War  and  the  fall  of 
Richmond,  Mr.  Dana  represented  the  De- 
partment at  the  scene  of  operations.  He 
was  with  Grant  before  and  behind  and 
around  Vicksburg  for  four  months.  He 
saw  the  Chattanooga  campaign  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  He  went  with  Sherman  to 
the  relief  of  Burnside  in  Knoxville.  He 
was  in  the  Wilderness,  and  at  Spottsylvania, 
and  everywhere  with  the  army  throughout 
the  tremendous  fighting  in  the  spring  of 
1864.  He  was  with  Sheridan  in  the  Shen- 
andoah  Valley  in  the  autumn  of  that  year  ; 
and  he  travelled  with  Grant  back  to  Wrash- 
ington  from  Richmond,  after  the  surrender 
of  Lee  and  the  death  of  the  Confederacy. 
For  months  at  a  time  he  was  at  the 
front,  in  the  saddle,  on  the  march,  on  the 
field  when  there  was  fighting,  living  at 
army  headquarters  as  the  official  repre- 
sentative of  the  civil  authority,  in  close 
personal  relations  with  the  commanding 
generals,  fully  posted  as  to  their  intended 
movements  and  largest  plans,  and  sending 
back  to  Washington,  over  General  Eckert's 
wires,  daily,  and  often  hourly,  despatches 
for  the  information  of  the  Secretary  of  War 
and  the  President.  Dana's  reports  to 
Stanton,  when  they  were  of  importance,  as 
they  generally  were,  went  straight  to  the 
White  House  as  soon  as  they  had  been 
translated  from  the  cipher. 

These  despatches,  distinguished  by  com- 
mon sense,  clear  perception,  direct  and 
fearless  statement,  and  utter  lack  of  respect 
for  foolish  or  unnecessary  routine,  consti- 
tute what  is  unquestionably  the  most  im- 
portant work  of  reporting  ever  done  by  any 
newspaperman.  The  same  qualities  which 
make  Mr.  Dana  a  great  journalist,  made 
him  a  consummate  reporter  of  military 
events.  Lincoln  saw  from  the  first  that  he 
had  committed  no  mistake  in  his  choice  of 
a  pair  of  eyes.  He  wanted,  most  of  all,  the 
absolute  truth  of  the  situation — the  broad 
truth  freed  from  unessential  details — as  it 
appeared  to  a  swift  and  accurate  intelli- 
gence and  a  keen  judge  of  human  charac- 
ter. He  got  it,  and  more,  in  Dana's  de- 
spatches and  letters  to  Stanton.  In  the 
routine  reports  of  the  military  service, 
tardy  in  arrival,  and  in  construction  ham- 


MR.  DANA   OF  "  THE  SUN." 


91 


pered  by  all  of  the  conventions,  the  leaders 
and  lesser  officers  upon  whose  personal 
qualities  depended,  in  the  last  analysis,  the 
fate  of  the  Union  cause,  figured  merely  as 
names,  with  hardly  more  individuality 
than  so  many  algebraic  symbols.  In  the 
Assistant  Secretary's  reports  the  men  in 
the  field  jump  into  life  in  from  two  to  half 
a  dozen  lines  of  rapid  portraiture.  They 
stood  before  Lincoln  in  his  study  in  the 
White  House  as  if  they  were  there  in  per- 
son, with  all  of  their  virtues  and  imperfec- 
tions. A  few  words  of  incidental  charac- 
terization, a  half  humorous  reference  to 
some  small  incident,  gave  the  President  a 
better  understanding  of  the  remote  instru- 


relied,  as  it  has  always  been  his  habit  to  rely, 
with  full  confidence  upon  the  soundness 
of  his  own  electric  intuitions.  He  repre- 
sented the  facts  about  men  and  affairs  at 
the  front  precisely  as  he  himself  saw  them, 
without  fear  or  favor,  and  without  terror 
of  precedent.  His  sole  purpose  at  any 
time  was  to  give  the  Government  at  Wash- 
ington the  information  of  which  it  had 
need  at  that  time.  In  the  whirl  and  din 
of  the  front  he  sometimes  made  mistakes 
of  fact,  and  was  quick  to  correct  them. 
He  misjudged  men  occasionally,  and  at 
the  earliest  opportunity  put  them  right 
again.  He  kept  his  head  at  times  when 
camp  sentiment  and  even  headquarters 


MR.  DANA  S    HOUSE    ON    DOSORIS    ISLAND    AS    IT    FRONTS    LONG    ISLAND    SOUND. 


ments  through  which  he  was  working  to 
suppress  the  Rebellion  than  he  could  have 
derived  by  any  other  medium  short  of  his 
own  personal  observation  of  the  men  them- 
selves. Miles  of  the  customary  military  re- 
ports were  worth  less  to  Lincoln,  for  his 
purposes,  than  half  a  dozen  of  Dana's  vivid 
sentences. 

It  is  quite  obvious  that  in  most  hands 
this  would  be  a  dangerous  and  misleading 
method  of  reporting  military  events.  Few 
men  in  Mr.  Dana's  place  would  have  had 
the  courage  to  disregard  so  entirely  the 
conventional  formula!  of  official  communi- 
cation ;  few  men  in  Mr.  Lincoln's  place 
would  have  been  so  quick  to  recognize 
and  appreciate  the  value  of  the  service. 
Mr.  Dana  treated  his  subject  in  the  only 
way  possible  to  his  mind  and  pen.  He 


were  in  the  delirium  of  false  hope,  or  in 
the  indigo  depths  of  unnecessary  discour- 
agement. 

Upon  the  steadiness  of  Dana's  judgment, 
the  justice  of  his  observations,  and  the 
singleness  of  his  patriotic  purpose,  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  came  to  depend  more  and  more 
during  the  last  two  years  of  the  war.  It 
is  impossible  to  look  over  the  Assistant 
Secretary's  telegrams  and  letters  from  the 
front,  either  those  already  printed  in  the 
voluminous  collection  of  war  documents 
issuing  from  the  Government  Press,  or  the 
equally  important  papers  that  still  belong 
to  unpublished  history,  without  wondering 
at  the  discernment  shown  in  his  early 
estimates  cf  leaders  then  almost  unknown  ; 
at  the  sureness  with  which  he  distinguished 
the  stuffed  heroes  from  the  real  ones,  recog- 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


A   CORNER   OF   THE   LIBRARY   AT   DOSORIS. 


nized  latent  military  genius,  and  detected 
the  bogus  article  under  no  matter  what 
pretentiousness  of  pomp  and  circumstance ; 
or  at  the  extent  to  which  his  observations 
and  suggestions  from  the  field  influenced 
the  military  policy  of  the  Administration, 
and  helped  to  determine  the  career  of 
generals,  the  achievements  of  armies,  and 
the  destiny  of  the  national  cause. 

From  the  hundreds  of  character  sketches 
swiftly  drawn  at  first  sight  for  the  in- 
formation of  Stanton  and  Lincoln,  take, 
for  example,  this  estimate  of  John  A. 
Logan,  then  not  very  conspicuous  among 
the  volunteer  generals  for  the  Western 
States:  "This  is  a  man  of  remarkable 
qualities  and  peculiar  character.  Heroic 
and  brilliant,  he  is  sometimes  unsteady. 
Inspiring  his  men  with  his  own  enthusiasm 
on  the  field  of  battle,  he  is  splendid  in  all 
its  crash  and  commotion  ;  but  before  it 
begins  he  is  doubtful  of  the  result,  and  after 
it  is  over  he  is  fearful  we  may  yet  be  beaten. 
A  man  of  instinct,  and  not  of  reflection,  his 
judgments  are  often  absurd,  but  his  extem- 
poraneous opinions  are  very  apt  to  be  right. 
Deficient  in  education ;  deficient,  too,  in  a 
nice  and  elevated  moral  sense,  he  is  full  of 
generous  attachments  and  sincere  animosi- 
ties. On  the  whole,  few  can  serve  the 
cause  of  the  country  more  effectively  than 
he,  and  none  will  serve  it  more  faithfully." 

Mentioning  Sherman  at  the  time  when 
that  commander's  name  was  scarcely  known 


in  the  East,  except  for  his  failure  to  take 
Vicksburg  in  the  December  previous  to 
Grant's  success  at  that  point,  Dana  writes 
nothing  but  admiration  and  praise  :  "Sher- 
man tolerates  no  idlers,  and  finds  some- 
thing for  everybody  to  do.  The  Chief 
of  Artillery  [in  the  Fifteenth  Corps  staff], 
Major  Taylor,  directed  by  Sherman's  omni- 
present eye  and  quick  judgment,  is  an  offi- 
cer of  great  value,  although  under  another 
general  he  might  not  be  worth  so  much. 
On  the  whole,  General  Sherman  has  a  very 
small  and  a  very  efficient  staff,  but  the 
efficiency  comes  mainly  from  him.  What 
a  splendid  soldier  he  is  !  " 

Long  afterwards,  when  Sherman  was 
about  to  start  on  his  march  to  the  sea,  it 
became  Mr.  Dana's  official  duty  to  rebuke 
that  commander,  gently  and  indirectly,  for 
his  lack  of  one  of  the  prime  qualities  of 
good  generalship,  namely,  tightness  of 
mouth  concerning  his  own  military  plans. 
Grant  had  been  annoyed  by  the  publica- 
tion in  certain  Western  newspapers  of  au- 
thentic intelligence  concerning  Sherman's 
intended  movements.  The  silent  general 
complained  of  this  to  Stanton,  implying 
that  the  leakage  was  in  the  War  Depart- 
ment. There  was  a  prompt  investigation, 
and  it  proved  that  one  of  Sherman's  pay- 
masters was  communicating  to  his  friends 
the  general's  plans  as  stated  by  Sherman 
himself.  Stanton  got  hold  of,  a  letter 
written  by  a  member  of  Sherman's  staff  to 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN." 


93 


somebody  in  Washington,  also  giving  full 
details  of  projects  which  it  was  better  the 
enemy  should  not  know. 

"  If  Sherman  cannot  keep  from  telling 
his  plans  to  paymasters,"  wrote  Stanton 
angrily  to  Grant,  "  and  his  staff  are  per- 
mitted to  send  them  broadcast  over  the 
•land,  the  Department  cannot  prevent  their 
publication." 

Dana  thereupon  politely  notified  Sher- 
man that  correct  information  was  escaping 
from  headquarters  at  Atlanta  and  getting 
into  the  public  prints  ;  and  he  received  this 
cheerful,  if  somewhat  irresponsible,  reply  : 

"  To  Hon.  C.  A.  Dana,  Assistant  Secre- 
tary of  War  :  If  indiscreet  newspaper  men 
publish  information  too  near  the  truth, 
counteract  its  effect  by  publishing  other 
paragraphs  calculated  to  mislead  the  en- 
emy, such  as,  '  Sherman's  army  has  been 
much  reenforced  lately,  especially  in  the 
cavalry,  and  he  will  soon  move  by  several 
columns  in  circuit,  so  as  to  catch  Hood's 
army;'  or,  'Sherman's  destination  is  not 
Charleston,  but  Selma,  where  he  will  meet 
an  army  from  the  Gulf.'  " 

VII. 

EARLY  in  September,  1864,  Mr.  Dana 
went  to  Rosecrans's  headquarters  at  Chat- 
tanooga to  accompany  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland  in  the  great  movement  which 
was  then  expected  to  be  the  finishing  blow 
of  the  war.  On  his  way  down  through 
Tennessee  he  had  a  long  interview  with 
Andrew  Johnson  on  the  political  future  of 
that  almost  reconquered  State.  When  he 
reached  headquarters  at  Stevens's  Gap, 
Rosecrans  received  him  with  proper  cour- 
tesy, but  at  once  began  a  long  tirade  against 
Stanton. 

"  General,"  said  Mr.  Dana,  "  I  am  not 
here  to  report  your  opinion  of  Mr.  Stan- 
ton.  If  there's  anything  your  army  needs, 
or  that  you  want  done  by  the  Department, 
tell  me,  and  you  shall  have  it." 

The  Assistant  Secretary  had  not  been 
many  weeks  with  this  estimable  gentle- 
man, but  most  unfortunate  soldier,  before 
he  saw  clearly  that  what  the  army  needed 
above  all  things  was  another  commander. 
The  disastrous  day  of  Chickamauga  came, 
with  its  casualty  list  on  the  Union  side 
of  sixteen  hundred  killed,  nine  thousand 
wounded,  and  five  thousand  prisoners  or 
missing,  and  its  blunder  of  generalship  ren- 
dering useless  this  awful  sacrifice.  Dana 
witnessed  the  rout  of  Sheridan's  and  Da- 
vis's  divisions,  and  was  swept  off  that  part 
of  the  field  in  the  panic  which  seemed 


like  another  Bull  Run.  The  first  news 
which  he  sends  to  Stanton  and  Lincoln  is 
disheartening,  but  he  is  able  to  modify  it 
a  few  hours  later,  when  he  gets  from  Gen- 
eral Garfield  the  story  of  Thomas's  heroic 
stand  at  the  left  of  the  long  line.  Rose- 
crans withdraws  the  entire  army  into  Chat- 
tanooga, and  begins  to  waver  between 
plans  for  resistance  and  plans  for  further 
_and  final  retreat.  He  follows  up  the  great 
blunder  of  the  Chickamauga  day  with  the 
almost  equally  expensive  mistake  of  with- 
drawing the  Union  forces  which  held  Look- 
out Mountain,  and  abandoning  that  posi- 
tion to  Bragg's  army. 

This  much  of  history  is  necessary  in 
order  to  understand  the  full  significance 
of  Mr.  Dana's  despatch  to  Stanton  on  Sep- 
tember 24th,  two  days  after  the  retreat  into 
Chattanooga,  recommending  the  removal 
of  Rosecrans  and  the  substitution  of  "some 
Western  general  of  high  rank  and  great 
prestige,  like  Grant." 

Six  days  later,  after  a  long  and  frank  talk 
with  Garfield,  then  Rosecrans's  chief  of 
staff,  Mr.  Dana  repeated  urgently  his 
recommendation  that  Rosecrans  should  be 
removed  ;  and  he  suggested  that  Thomas, 
"the  rock  of  Chickamauga,"  be  put  in 
command.  "  He  is  certainly,"  wrote  Dana, 
"an  officer  of  the  very  highest  qualities, 
soldierly  and  personal." 

An  incident  very  creditable  to  Thomas 
then  occurred.  On  the  strength  of  the 
camp  gossip,  Brigadier-General  Rousseau, 
who  was  briefly  described  by  Dana  to 
Stanton  as  a  person  "regarded  throughout 
this  army  as  an  ass  of  eminent  gifts," 
went  on  his  own  account  to  Thomas,  and 
informed  him  that  the  War  Department 
was  inquiring  how  the  army  would  like 'to 
have  him  in  the  chief  command.  Thomas 
at  once  sent  a  confidential  friend  to  Dana 
to  say  that  while  ready  to  answer  any 
other  call  to  duty,  he  could  not  consent  to 
become  the  successor  of  Rosecrans,  because 
he  would  not  do  anything  to  countenance 
the  suspicion  that  he  had  intrigued  against 
his  commander. 

Meanwhile,  with  Thomas  holding  to  this 
attitude  on  the  question  of  his  own  pro- 
motion, affairs  at  Chattanooga  went  from 
bad  to  worse.  The  army  had  lost  both 
confidence  in  its  commander  and  spirit 
for  the  work  ahead.  At  headquarters 
incapacity  ruled,  with  fluctuating  designs, 
fussiness  over  details,  procrastination  on 
frivolous  pretexts,  and  seeming  indifference 
to  the  perils  that  were  gathering  about  the 
army  as  the  autumn  grew  older.  Dana 
telegraphed  again  on  October  12  : 


94 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


"  I  have  never  seen  a  public  man  pos- 
sessing talent  with  less  administrative 
power,  less  steadiness  and  clearness  in 
difficulty,  and  greater  practical  incapacity 
than  General  Rosecrans.  He  has  invention, 
fertility,  and  knowledge,  but  he  has  no 
strength  of  will  and  no  concentration  of 
purpose.  His  mind  scatters;  there  is  no 
system  in  the  use  of  his  busy  days  and 
restless  nights  ;  no  courage  against  individ- 
uals, in  his  composition  ;  and,  with  great 
love  of  command,  he  is  a  feeble  commander. 
He  is  conscientious  and  honest,  just  as  he 
is  imperious  and  disputatious;  always  with 
a  stray  vein  of  caprice,  and  an  overweening 
passion  for  the  approbation  of  his  personal 
friends  and  the  public  outside.  I  consider 
the  army  to  be  very  unsafe  in  his  hands, 
but  know  of  no  man  except  Thomas  who 
could  now  be  safely  put  in  his  place." 

The  sequel  is  well  known.  A  week  later 
Mr.  Dana  went  to  Nashville,  returning 
to  Chattanooga  the  next  day  in  company 
with  General  Grant;  the  train  narrowly 
escaping  wreck  on  a  high  embankment, 
where  a  railroad  tie  had  been  planted  on 
the  track  by  rebel  sympathizers  for  the 
destruction  of  the  Union  commander. 
Two  days  later  Rosecrans  had  been  prac- 
tically superseded  by  both  Grant  and 
Thomas,  through  a  military  reorganization 
by  which  the  former  took  the  command  of 
the  military  departments  of  the  Tennessee, 
Ohio,  and  Cumberland,  and  the  latter  the 
command  of  the  old  Army  of  the  Cumber- 
land, increased  by  the  addition  of  the 
Eleventh  and  Twelfth  Corps.  Then  fol- 
lowed the  splendid  actions  around  Chat- 
tanooga,Orchard  Knob,Lookout  Mountain, 
Missionary  Ridge,  with  their  momentous 
results.  Mr.  Dana  saw  the  storming  of 
the  Ridge,  perhaps  the  most  glorious  and 
picturesque  exploit  of  the  whole  war.  He 
telegraphed  to  Stanton  : 

"  Glory  to  God  !  the  day  is  decisively 
ours.  Missionary  Ridge  has  just  been 
carried  by  a  magnificent  charge  of  Thomas's 
troops,  and  the  rebels  routed."  And  after- 
wards :  "  The  storming  of  the  Ridge  -was 
one  of  the  greatest  miracles  in  military 
history.  No  man  who  climbs  the  ascent 
by  any  of  the  roads  that  wind  along  its 
front  can  believe  that  eighteen  thousand 
men  were  moved  up  its  broken  and  crum- 
bling face,  unless  it  was  his  fortune  to 
witness  the  deed.  It  seems  as  awful  as 
a  visible  interposition  of  God.  Neither 
Grant  nor  Thomas  intended  it.  Their 
orders  were  to  carry  the  rifle-pits  along  the 
base  of  the  Ridge  and  capture  their  occu- 
pants ;  but,  when  this  was  done,  the  unac- 


countable spirit  of  the  troops  bore  them 
bodily  up  these  impracticable  steeps,  over 
the  bristling  rifle-pits  on  the  crest  and  the 
thirty  cannon  enfilading  every  gully.  The 
order  to  storm  appears  to  have  been  given 
simultaneously  by  Generals  Sheridan  and 
Wood,  because  the  men  were  not  to  be 
held  back,  dangerous  as  the  attempt  ap- 
peared to  military  prudence.  Besides,  the 
generals  had  caught  the  inspiration  of  the 
men,  and  were  themselves  ready  to  under- 
take impossibilities." 

In  the  middle  of  December  Mr.  Dana 
went  back  to  Washington,  at  Grant's 
request,  to  explain  that  general's  wishes  in 
regard  to  the  winter  campaign. 

VIII. 

MR.  DANA'S  relations  with  Grant,  from 
his  first  acquaintance  with  him  at  Vicks- 
burg  until  the  end  of  the  war,  were  of  a 
peculiarly  interesting  character.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  Grant's  military  and  personal 
fortunes  were  at  a  critical  stage  when  Dana 
went  down  to  Vicksburg  from  the  War 
Department  early  in  the  spring  of  1863. 
The  long  delay  in  capturing  the  rebel 
stronghold  had  started  up  all  the  grumblers 
and  growlers  at  the  North.  Amazing  reports 
were  current,  and  generally  credited,  as  to 
personal  habits  which  unfitted  the  general 
for  high  or  continuous  responsibility. 
McClernand  hoped  to  regain  the  command 
of  the  expedition,  and  it  was  notorious  that 
he  and  his  friends  were  intriguing  against 
Grant.  Other  enemies  were  raising  a 
clamor  in  the  newspapers,  and  demanding 
Grant's  removal.  General  Sherman  has 
testified  that  at  this  time  even  Mr.  Lincoln 
and  General  Halleck  seemed  to  be  losing 
confidence  in  Grant.  His  local  successes 
had  been  brilliant,  but  the  true  measure  of 
his  military  ability  and  his  capacity  for 
larger  enterprises  were  as  yet  unknown 
quantities.  Mr.  Dana's  firm  belief  in 
Grant's  staying  powers  and  certain  future  x 
usefulness  to  the  country,  was  based  on 
close  and  accurate  observation  of  his 
character.  His  letters  and  despatches  from 
Vicksburg,  urging  the  retention  of  the 
general  as  strongly  as  he  afterwards  urged 
the  removal  of  Rosecrans,  for  the  sake  of 
the  Union  cause,  effectually  silenced 
Grant's  enemies  at  Washington,  and  un- 
questionably deterred  the  Administration 
from  a  colossal  mistake  which,  as  every- 
body can  now  see,  would  have  changed 
the  whole  course  of  history. 

The  Assistant  Secretary  was  in  camp 
with  Grant  frequently  during  the  rest  of 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN." 


95 


the  war.  The  general  liked  to  have  Dana 
at  headquarters,  and  that  was  likewise  the 
case  with  the  other  commanders  with  whom 
his  missions  to  the  front  brought  him  in- 
to personal  association.  Whatever  there 
might  be  of  military  jealousy  of  civilian 
supervision,  yielded  to  the  charm  of  his 
companionship  and  the  tact  with  which  he 
performed  his  delicate  duties.  The  com- 
manders quickly  discovered  that  he  was 
there  not  in  any  sense  as  a  watch  over,  or 
check  upon,  their  operations,  but  to  help 
them  along  with  all  of  the  aid  the  Depart- 
ment and  the  Administration  could  render. 
The  generals  were  invariably  Mr.  Dana's 
friends. 

When  the  fighting  began  in  the  Wilder- 
ness, in  May,  1864,  the  bloodiest  month  of 
the  whole  war,  Dana  was  summoned  to  the 
War  Department  late  one  night,  when  he 
was  at  a  party.  He  hurried  over  to  the 
Department  in  his  evening  dress.  The 
President  was  there,  talking  very  soberly 
with  Stanton. 

"  Dana,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln,  "  you  know 
we  have  been  in  the  dark  for  two  days 
since  Grant  moved.  We  are  very  much 
troubled,  and  have  concluded  to  send  you 
down  there.  How  soon  can  you  start  ?  " 


"  In  half  an  hour,"  replied  Dana. 

In  about  that  time  he  had  an  engine 
fired  up  at  Alexandria,  a  cavalry  escort 
awaiting  him  there,  and  with  his  own  horse 
was  aboard  the  train  at  Maryland  Avenue 
that  was  to  take  him  to  Alexandria.  His 
only  baggage  was  a  toothbrush.  He  was 
just  starting,  when  an  orderly  galloped 
with  word  that  the  President  wished  to  see 
him.  Dana  rode  back  to  the  Department 
in  hot  haste.  Mr.  Lincoln  was  sitting  in 
the  same  place. 

"  Well,  Dana,"  said  he,  looking  up, 
"  since  you  went  away  I've  been  thinking 
about  it.  I  don't  like  to  send  you  down 
there." 

"  Why  not,  Mr.  President  ?  "  asked  Dana, 
a  little  surprised. 

"  You  can't  tell,"  continued  the  Presi- 
dent, "  just  where  Lee  is,  or  what  he 
is  doing ;  and  Jeb  Stuart  is  rampaging 
around  pretty  lively  in  between  the  Rappa- 
hannock  and  the  Rapidan.  It's  a  consid- 
erable risk,  and  I  don't  like  to  expose  you 
to  it." 

"  Mr.  President,"  said  Dana,  "  I  have  a 
cavalry  guard  ready  and  a  good  horse  my- 
self. If  it  comes  to  the  worst,  we  are 
equipped  to  run.  It's  getting  late,  and  I 


A    VIEW    OF   THE    PARLORS   AT   DOSORIS. 


96 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


want  to  get  down  to  the   Rappahannock 
by  daylight.     I  think  I'll  start." 

"  Well  now,  Dana,"  said  the  President, 
with  a  little  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  if  you 
feel  that  way,  •  I  rather  wish  you  would. 
Good  night,  and  God  bless  you." 

He  reached  the  scene  of  action  on  May 
7th,  without  encountering  the  redoubtable 
Jeb  Stuart,  who  was  mortally  wounded 
five  days  later  in  an  engagement  with 
Sheridan's  cavalry.  Dana  saw  all  of  the 
fighting  of  the  next  two  months,  and  rode 
with  Grant  to  the  James  and  to  the  front 
of  Petersburg.  From  Cold  Harbor,  on 
June  yth,  Grant  telegraphs  to  Stanton  that 
Mr.  Dana's  full  despatches  render  un- 
necessary frequent  or  extended  despatches 
from  himself.  Read  continuously,  these 
Virginia  despatches  of  Mr.  Dana's  afford  a 
panorama  of  that  tremendous  campaign 
as  powerfully  drawn  and  as  vivid  in  color 
as  his  story  of  the  three  months  at  Chat- 
tanooga. 

Here    is    an    interesting   request    from 
Grant  to   the   War    Department,  as    for- 
warded by  Mr.  Dana  the  day  before  the 
assault   on  Petersburg  :    "  General  Grant 
wishes    that    you    would    send    him    five 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  Confederate 
money  for  use  in  a  cavalry  expedition 
which  he  prefers  to  pay  for  every- 
thing taken." 

The  conscientious  raid  con- 
templated in  this  financial  ar- 
rangement was  probably  the 
same  expedition,  led  by  General 
James  Harrison  Wilson,  which 
gives  us  incidentally  in  Dana's 
despatches,  a  fortnight  later,  a 
flashlight  view  of  General  Meade. 
Wilson  was  one  of  the  youngest, 
as  well  as  one  of  the  best  and 
bravest  soldiers  in  the  Union 
army,  and  he  distinguished  himself  in  a 
thousand  ways  besides  his  capture  of  Jef- 
ferson Davis.  He  was  accused  by  the 
Richmond  "  Examiner  "  of  stealing,  while 
on  this  raid,  not  only  negroes  and  horses, 
but  also  silver  plate  and  clothing.  On  the 
young  general's  return,  Meade  summons 
him  to  headquarters,  and,  "  taking  the 
'  Examiner's '  statement  for  truth,  reads 
him  a  lecture  and  demands  an  explanation. 
Wilson  gravely  denies  the  charge  of  rob- 
bing women  and  churches,  and  hopes  that 
Meade  will  not  be  ready  to  condemn  his 
command  because  its  operations  have  ex- 
cited the  ire  of  the  enemy." 

A  picture  of  Lincoln,  on  his  visit  to 
the  front  in  June,  1864  :  "  The  President 
arrived  here  about  noon,  and  has  just 


returned  from  visiting  the  lines  before 
Petersburg.  As  he  came  back,  he  passed 
through  the  division  of  colored  troops 
under  General  Hinks,  which  so  greatly  dis- 
tinguished itself  on  Wednesday  last.  They 
were  drawn  up  in  double  lines  on  each 
side  of  the  road,  and  welcomed  him  with 
hearty  shouts.  It  was  a  memorable  thing 
to  behold  the  President,  whose  fortune  it 
is  to  represent  the  principles  of  emancipa- 
tion, passing  bare-headed  through  the  en- 


A   CORNER   OF   THE    PARLOR. 


thusiastic  ranks  of  those  negroes  armed  to 
defend  the  integrity  of  the  American 
Nation." 

IX. 

AT  his  desk  in  the  War  Department  in 
Washington  Mr.  Dana  was  the  same  man 
as  at  his  desk  in  the  "Tribune  "  office  or 
in  the  "  Sun  "  office.  The  visitor,  whatever 
his  business,  met  with  a  courteous  recep- 
tion, was  listened  to  attentively  and  with- 
out any  signs  of  undue  haste,  and  then  got 
a  very  prompt  and  decisive  answer.  Mr. 
Dana's  remarkable  capacity  for  disposing 
of  questions  and  of  persons  swiftly,  justly, 
and,  in  rightful  cases,  satisfactorily  to  the 
applicant,  soon  attracted  Lincoln's  atten- 
tion, and  he  made  good  use  of  it.  It  was 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN." 


97 


the  President's  habit,  during  the  last  two 
years  of  his  life,  to  send  over  from  the  White 
House  to  the  Assistant  Secretary's  office  all 
sorts  of  people,  from  war  governors  to 
soldiers'  sweethearts,  bearing  little  cards 
like  this  : 


The  Assistant  Secretary's  numberless 
functions  when  not  at  the  front  gave  full 
employment  to  his  energy.  He  conducted 
a  good  part  of  the  more  important  official 
correspondence  of  the  Department.  His 
despatches  to  Grant  and  other  commanders 
kept  them  informed  of  whatever  it  was 
necessary  to  know  of  the  progress  of  events 
outside  of  their  own  immediate  field.  At 
one  time  he  is  in  the  Northwest  untangling 
the  red  tape  with  which  the  governors  of 
some  of  the  States  tied  up  at  home  troops 
which  the  Government  badly  needed  for 
service.  At  another  time  he  is  looking 
after  the  plots  of  the  rebel  conspirators 
across  the  Canadian  frontier.  He  receives 
reports,  sends  orders,  investigates  abuses, 
adjusts  controversies,  attends  to  multifari- 
ous details  of  routine,  and  runs  the  Depart- 
ment in  Mr.  Stanton's  absence. 

Only  once,  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  did  any 
general  attempt  to  obtain  a  reversal  of  one 
of  Mr.  Dana's  decisions.  It  was  a  small 
matter,  but  the  incident  now  seems  rather 
amusing. 

The  Union  Ladies'  Committee  of  Balti- 
more proposed  to  provide  a  Thanksgiving 
dinner  for  the  wounded  in  the  hospitals 
there,  and  permission  was  asked  by  friends 
of  the  wounded  Confederate  prisoners  to 
feed  them  likewise.  Mr.  Dana  promptly 
granted  it,  seeing  no  great  peril  to  the 
Union  cause  in  turkey  and  cranberry 
sauce.  Thereupon  General  Lew  Wallace,  in 
command  at  Baltimore,  telegraphed  to 
Stanton,  through  the  Adjutant-General's 
office,  this  ringing  and  rhetorical  protest  : 

"  I  hope  the  permission  given  by  Hon. 
Mr.  Dana,  Assistant  Secretary  of  War,  to 
feast  the  rebel  prisoners  in  hospital,  will 


be  withdrawn.  I  was  not  consulted.  Had 
I  been,  I  would  have  objected  to  the  mak- 
ing of  such  a  request.  The  permission  will 
be  construed  as  a  license  to  make  manifest 
once  more  the  disloyalty,  now  completely 
cowed  in  this  city.  I  beg  the  sleeping 
fiend  may  be  let  alone." 

Stanton's  reply  was  a  short 
lesson  in  common  sense.  "  The 
^-^^  Secretary  sees  no  objection  to 
supplies  for  Thanksgiving  being 
received  and  distributed  to  rebel 
prisoners  by  our  Union  Com- 
mittee, provided  our  own  men 
receive  an  equal  share."  The 
poor  rebel  wounded  got  their 
Thanksgiving  dinner,  and  the 
sleeping  fiend  slept  the  better  for 
being  fed. 

X. 

MR.  DANA'S  duties  brought  him  into  per- 
sonal contact,  and  often  into  intimate  ac- 
quaintance, with  nearly  every  conspicuous 
figure  of  the  period,  in  civil  or  military  life. 
With  Stanton  and  with  Lincoln,  of  course, 
his  relations  were  particularly  close.  For 
both  of  those  remarkable  men  his  memory 
cherishes  profound  admiration  and  warm  af- 
fection. Between  Lincoln  and  Dana  there 
was  a  bond  in  their  common  and  equally 
strong  perception  of  the  humorous.  The 
quality  was  lacking  in  Stanton  ;  and  when 
Lincoln,  on  the  night  of  the  Presidential 
election  of  1864,  sat  in  the  War  Department 
awaiting  the  nation's  verdict  upon  his  ad- 
ministration, and  sought  to  relieve  the  in- 
tense strain  of  the  hour  by  reading  aloud 
some  of  the  nonsense  of  Petroleum  V.  Nasby 
and  commenting  upon  the  same,  it  was  to 
the  Assistant  Secretary  and  not  to  the  Sec- 
retary that  the  extraordinary  lecture  was 
addressed.  Stanton  listened  with  amaze- 
ment. He  could  scarcely  control  his  dis- 
gust and  indignation  at  what  seemed  to 
him  the  unaccountable  frivolity  of  such  a 
performance  at  such  a  time. 

Mr.  Dana  first  saw  Mr.  Lincoln  soon 
after  his  inauguration  in  March,  1861.  He 
went  to  the  WThite  House  with  a  party  of 
New  York  Republicans  on  a  political 
errand.  The  interview  was  in  progress,  and 
the  President  was  explaining  his  views  as 
to  the  New  York  patronage,  when  a  door 
opened,  and  a  tall  and  lank  employee 
stuck  in  his  head  and  made  this  announce- 
ment : 

"  She  wants  you  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln,  visibly 
annoyed,  and  he  went  on  with  the  explana- 
tion of  his  views. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


Presently  the  door  opened  again,  and  the 
messenger  returned  : 

"  I  say  she  wants  you  !  " 

Four  years  afterwards  Mr.  Dana  came 
up  to  Washington  from  Richmond  with 
Grant  after  the  final  victory  of  the  Union 
army.  He  reached  the  capital  on  April 
i3th.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  i4th  he  re- 
ceived a  despatch  from  Portland,  Maine, 
reporting  that  Jacob  Thompson  was  ex- 
pected to  pass  through  that  town  in  dis- 
guise, on  his  way  from  Canada  to  England. 
Stanton  was  for  arresting  the  rebel  Com- 
missioner, but  he  sent  Dana  over  to  the 
White  House  to  see  the  President  about  it. 
Lincoln  was  in  the  little  closet  just  off  his 
office,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  washing  his  large 
hands. 

"  Halloa,  Dana,"  he  said  ;  "what  is  it 
now  ?  " 

Dana  explained  that  Mr.  Stanton  had 
an  opportunity  to  arrest  Thompson,  and 
thought  it  ought  to  be  done. 

"  Well,"  drawled  Lincoln,  "  I  think  not. 
When  you  have  an  elephant  on  hand  and 
he  wants  to  run  away,  better  let  him 
run.". 

A  few  hours  later  Abraham  Lincoln  lay 
unconscious  in  the  little  bedroom  in  the 
Petersen  house,  opposite  Ford's  Theatre. 
Dana  was  with  Stanton  until  two  o'clock 
in  the  room  adjoining  the  death-chamber. 
Then  he  went  home  to  sleep.  He  was 
awakened  in  the  morning  by  a  knock  at 
his  door.  It  was  Colonel  Pelouze,  one  of 
the  assistant  adjutant-generals. 

"  Mr.  Dana,"  said  Colonel  Pelouze, 
"  Mr.  Lincoln  is  dead,  and  Mr.  Stanton 
directs  you  to  arrest  Jacob  Thompson." 

I  have  dwelt,  perhaps,  beyond  the  limits 
of  due  proportion  upon  the  two  years  spent 
by  Mr.  Dana  in  the  only  public  office  he 
ever  held,  and  constituting  the  only  inter- 
ruption to  his  continuous  professional 
career  of  half  a  century.  He  talks  much 
less  than  one  would  expect  about  his  ex- 
periences during  the  war  period,  and  has 
shown  no  signs  of  a  disposition  to  put  in 
permanent  form  the  unequalled  material 
afforded  by  his  personal  recollections  of 
that  period.  Indeed,  an  almost  curious 
indifference  to  past  history,  especially  as 
concerning  his  own  performances,  is  a 
noticeable  trait  of  his  character.  With  the 
keenest  sense  of  news  perspective  in  the 
matter  of  recording  contemporaneous  his- 
tory, and  with  insatiable  avidity  for  its 
facts  of  all  sorts,  he  is  inclined  to  regard 
as  "  old  "  things  back  of  day  before  yes- 
terday, or  at  least  back  of  week  before 
last.  Possibly  it  is  not  natural  that  the 


historical  impulse  and  the  journalistic  in- 
stinct, each  in  the  highest  form,  should 
coexist.  But  Mr.  Dana  is  always  glad  to 
see  his  friends  of  the  war  time,  and  he 
smiles  when  some  veteran  whom  he  last 
met  it  may  be  at  Milliken's  Bend,  or  Craw- 
fish Springs,  or  New  Bethesda  Meeting 
House,  persists  in  addressing  him  as  Gen- 
eral Dana,  a  military  title  which  is  not  his 
by  right. 

XI. 

THE  failure  of  the  Chicago  "  Repub- 
lican "  enterprise,  in  which  Mr.  Dana  en- 
gaged after  the  Civil  War  was  over,  is  still 
a  mystery  to  those  who  know  the  man,  but 
do  not  know  the  facts.  The  active  pro- 
moter was  a  Mr.  Mack,  and  the  concern 
was  organized  with  a  capital  of  five  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  on  paper.  Only  a 
very  small  part  of  this,  perhaps  sixty  or 
eighty  thousand  dollars,  was  ever  paid  up, 
a  large  block  of  the  stock  being  set  aside 
as  a  bonus  to  induce  some  eminent  man 
to  become  the  editor.  Mack  went  to  Mr. 
Dana  soon  after  Lee's  surrender,  and 
brought  the  influence  of  the  Hon.  Lyman 
Trumbull  and  others  to  bear  in  order  to 
persuade  him  to  accept  the  place.  Mr. 
Dana  went  out  to  Chicago,  and  was  wel- 
comed with  a  banquet.  On  his  part,  and 
on  the  part  of  his  friends  in  Chicago,  there 
was  complete  ignorance  of  the  true  state 
of  the  concern's  finances.  Mack  tried  to 
build  up  a  newspaper  without  cash.  Mr. 
Dana  took  his  stock,  and  became  nominally 
editor-in-chief  at  a  nominal  salary  of  seven 
thousand  or  ten  thousand  dollars,  he 
doesn't  remember  which,  on  a  five  years' 
or  eight  years'  contract.  A  little  later, 
when  the  emergencies  of  the  concern  com- 
pelled an  assessment,  he  paid  his  notes  to 
the  amount  of  ten  thousand  dollars  in 
good  faith.  He  did  not  discover  till  after- 
wards that  his  was  the  sole  response  to  the 
assessment.  The  business  part  of  the  es- 
tablishment got  in  so  bad  a  way  on  account 
of  the  lack  of  money,  that,  to  disentangle 
himself,  Mr.  Dana  offered  to  relinquish  all 
of  his  stock,  to  release  the  company  from 
its  contract  with  him,  and  to  quit,  for  ten 
thousand  dollars  in  cash.  That  was  paid 
to  him,  and  he  got  out  about  square.  After- 
wards, by  advice  of  counsel,  he  declined  to 
pay  the  notes  given  by  him  at  the  time  of 
the  peculiar  assessment  already  spoken  of. 
Suit  was  brought  against  him,  but  after 
occupying  the  Illinois  courts  for  ten  or  a 
dozen  years,  the  case  was  decided  in  Mr. 
Dana's  favor.  Under  such  circumstances, 
he  was  editor  of  the  Chicago  "  Republican  " 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN." 


99 


THE    BILLIARD    HOUSE   AT   DOSORIS. 


for  about  a  year,  and  during  that  time  it  was 
a  bright,  spunky  newspaper. 

Then  Mr.  Dana  came  to  New  York,  and, 
under  conditions  very  different  from  those 
of  the  Chicago  undertaking,  acquired  with 
his  friends  the  old  "  Sun  "  establishment, 
which  had  been  owned  for  thirty  years  by 
the  Beach  family.  He  took  possession  of 
the  property  at  the  beginning  of  1868,  and 
soon  afterwards  moved  into  the  little  corner 
room  already  described.  From  that  time 
until  this  Mr.  Dana  has  been  the  editor  of 
"  The  Sun  "  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word. 
He  is,  and  always  has  been,  in  sole  charge. 
The  prosperity  of  "  The  Sun,"  its  achieve- 
ments, and  its  position  among  the  journals 
of  the  country,  express  Mr.  Dana's  absolute 
control  over  its  every  department.  But  this 
is  not  the  story  of  a  newspaper.  It  is  only 
a  necessarily  imperfect  sketch  of  the  man 
who  edits  that  newspaper  ;  whose  person- 
ality, however,  perhaps  to  a  greater  extent 
than  in  the  case  of  any  other  conspicuous 
journalist,  is  identified  with  the  newspaper 
he  edits. 

XII. 

WHAT  are  Mr.  Dana's  theories  of  journal- 
ism ?  At  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  don't 
believe  he  ever  stopped  to  think  ;  that  is 
to  say,  to  formulate  anything  of  the  kind, 
apart  from  his  general  ideas  of  human  in- 
terest, common  sense,  and  the  inborn  know- 
how.  He  has  always  been  much  more  con- 
cerned about  the  practical  question  of  mak- 
ing for  to-morrow  morning  a  paper  which 
its  purchasers  will  be  sure  to  read.  Mr. 


Dana  has  lectured  more  than  once  on  jour- 
nalism, and  his  audiences  and  the  readers 
of  his  published  remarks  have  been  de- 
lighted with  his  presentation  of  the  subject ; 
but  his  experience  is  too  ripe  and  his  wis- 
dom far  too  alert  to  attempt  a  code  of  spe- 
cific directions  for  the  making  of  a  great 
newspaper.  The  range  of  a  newspaper 
depends  first  of  all  upon  the  breadth  of 
its  editor's  sympathy  with  human  affairs, 
and  the  diversity  of  things  in  which  he 
takes  a  personal  interest.  If  he  is  genuine, 
its  qualities  are  his  ;  and  nothing  that  is  in 
him,  or  that  he  can  procure,  is  too  good  to 
go  into  its  ephemeral  pages. 

What  Mr.  Dana  himself  writes,  in  "  The 
Sun  "  or  elsewhere,  has  that  indefinable 
piquant  quality  of  style  which  holds  your 
interest  and  makes  you  read  on  without 
conscious  effort,  instead  of  laboring  on  with 
admiration — the  flavor  that  is  in  Charles 
Reade,  but  not  in  George  Meredith  or 
George  Eliot ;  in  Saint-Simon  and  Sainte- 
Beuve,  but  not  in  Ruskin  or  Gibbon  ;  in 
field  strawberries,  but  not  in  California 
peaches. 

When  he  was  a  very  young  man,  Mr. 
Dana  wrote  poetry.  Among  his  earliest 
contributions  to  periodical  literature  were 
from  half  a  dozen  to  a  dozen  sonnets,  usu- 
ally of  sixteen  lines,  published  between  1841 
and  1844  in  various  numbers  of  "  The  Dial," 
the  remarkable  magazine  which  Margaret 
Fuller,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  George 
Ripley  edited  for  the  benefit  of  a  small  but 
earnest  group  of  men  and  women.  "  The 
Dial  "  was  printed  quarterly  for  about  four 


100 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


years,  and  among  Mr.  Dana's  fellow  con- 
tributors during  that  period  were  Emerson, 
Thoreau,  Channing,  Christopher  P.  Cranch, 
James  Russell  Lowell,  and  Jones  Very. 

Perhaps  one  of  Dana's  poems,  written 
fifty-one  years  ago,  will  have  now  the  same 
interest  as  a  "  human  document,"  as  would 
the  daguerreotype  of  him  in  early  manhood 
which  the  editor  of  this  magazine  has  not 
been  lucky  enough  to  find  : 

VIA  SACRA. 

Slowly  along  the  crowded  street  I  go. 
Marking  with  reverent  look  each  passer's  face, 
Seeking,  and  not  in  vain,  in  each  to  trace 
That  primal  soul  whereof  he  is  the  show. 
For  here  still  move,  by  many  eyes  unseen, 
The  blessed  gods  that  erst  Olympus  kept ; 
Through  every  guise  these  lofty  forms  serene 
Declare  the  all-holding  Life  hath  never  slept ; 
But  known  each  thrill  that  in  Man's  heart  hath 

been, 
And  every  tear  that  his  sad  eyes  have  wept. 

Alas  for  us  !  the  heavenly  visitants, 

We  greet  them  still  as  most  unwelcome  guests, 
Answering  their  smile  with  hateful  looks  askance, 
Their  sacred  speech  with  foolish,  bitter  jests  ; 
But  oh  !  what  is  it  to  imperial  Jove 
That  this  poor  world  refuses  all  his  love  ! 

That  was  in  1843.  During  the  half  cen- 
tury since  then,  Mr.  Dana  has  read  more 
poetry  and  written  less  than  any  other  man 
on  earth  in  whom  the  love  of  verse  is  genu- 
ine and  strong. 

In  judging  and  using  the  prose  or  poetry 
of  others,  he  is  hospitable  to  almost  any 
respectable  style  or  method,  no  matter  how 
different  from  his  own,  as  long  as  the  writer 
has  something  to  say.  His  tastes  are  very 
catholic.  He  can  tolerate  either  a  style 
approaching  barrenness  in  its  simplicity,  or 
rhetoric  that  is  florid  and  ornate  in  the  ex- 
treme, providing  it  conveys  ideas  that  are 
not  rubbish.  He  is  continually  reaching 
out  for  fresh  vigor,  unconventional  modes, 
originality  of  thought  and  phrase.  If  all 
of  Mr.  Dana's  staff  of  writers  should  happen 
to  be  cast  in  one  mould,  or  should  gradually 
assimilate  themselves  to  a  single  type,  so 
that  there  was  monotony  of  expression  in 
his  newspaper,  he  would  become  uneasy. 
The  first  thing  that  would  probably  occur 
to  him  to  do  would  be  to  send  out  for  a 
blacksmith,  or  perhaps  the  second  mate  of 
a  tramp  steamship,  or  what  not,  to  write 
for  "The  Sun"  in  the  interest  of  virility 
and  variety.  If  the  man  had  good  ideas, 
all  right  ;  Mr.  Dana  himself  would  attend 
to  the  syntax. 

Imagination  is  a  quality  for  which  he  has 
the  highest  respect,  but  it  must  go  with  sin- 
cerity. Dulness  he  cannot  stand.  He  is 


as  impatient  of  wishy-washy  writing  as  of 
cant.  He  pities  a  fool  and  can  be  kind  to 
him,  but  he  hates  a  sham  ;  and  this  hatred, 
seated  in  the  profoundest  depths  of  his  na- 
ture, is  the  key  to  much  that  has  puzzled 
some  observers  of  Mr.  Dana's  professional 
career. 

He  communicates  his  individuality  and 
methods  to  those  around  him  unconscious- 
ly and  by  personal  force,  rather  than  by  any 
attempt  at  didactics.  No  office  is  less  a 
school  of  journalism  in  the  sense  of  formal 
instruction,  or  even  of  systematic  sugges- 
tion, than  the  "  Sun  "  office. 

In  all  of  his  relations  with  his  subordi- 
nates and  assistants  in  every  department, 
Mr.  Dana  is  a  model  chief.  He  is  true  to 
his  helpers,  reasonable  in  his  requirements, 
constant  in  a  good  opinion  once  formed. 
His  eyes  are  on  every  part  of  the  paper 
every  day,  and  they  are  not  less  sharp  for 
points  of  defect  than  for  points  of  excel- 
lence, but  his  tongue  is  ten  times  quicker 
to  praise  than  to  blame.  Generous  and 
prompt  recognition  of  good  service  of  any 
sort,  or  of  honest,  although  only  partially 
successful,  effort,  is  habitual  with  him. 
His  condemnation  can  be  particularly  em- 
phatic, if  there  is  occasion  for  emphasis  ; 
small  literary  sins  and  venial  infractions  of 
discipline  provoke  him  to  humorous  com- 
miseration, rather  than  to  anger.  He  never 
fusses,  never  is  overbearing,  never  quarrels 
with  what  can't  be  helped. 

Mr.  Augustin  Daly  tells  a  story  about  a 
visit  of  his  to  Mr.  Dana's  office  to  remon- 
strate upon  what  the  manager  regarded  as 
too  severe  criticism  of  Miss  Ada  Rehan's 
performance  in  a  certain  part.  The  pres- 
ent publisher  of  "  The  Sun  "  was  at  that 
time  its  dramatic  critic. 

"  I  found  no  difficulty,"  says  Mr.  Daly, 
"  in  getting  an  audience  with  Mr.  Dana. 
He  glanced  up  from  his  work  and  asked, 
cheerily, '  What  can  I  do  for  you  to-day  ? ' 

"'Mr.  Dana,'  I  began  with  great  firm- 
ness, 'I  have  called  to  try  to  convince  you 
that  you  should  discharge  your  dramatic 
editor.  He  has ' 

'"Yes,  I  see,'  he  interrupted,  all  suavity 
and  smiles.  '  Well,  Mr.  Daly,  I  will  speak 
to  Mr.  Laffan  about  this  matter,  and  if  he 
thinks  that  he  really  deserves  to  be  dis- 
charged, I  will  most  certainly  do  it.'  " 

There  is  an  apocryphal  tradition,  prob- 
ably with  some  slight  foundation  of  fact, 
which  will  do  as  well  as  if  it  were  entirely 
true  to  illustrate  Mr.  Dana's  indifference 
to  disturbing  elements,  except  as  they  may 
be  useful  for  newspaper  purposes.  One 
night,  in  the  early  times  of  "The  Sun,"  the 


MR.  DANA    OF  "  THE  SUN." 


101 


city  editor  rushed  in  from  the  outside  room. 
"  The  Sun's  "  editorial  office  then  consisted 
of  four  rooms,  all  small. 

"  Mr.  Dana,"  exclaimed  the  city  editor, 
"  there's  a  man  out  there  with  a  cocked 
revolver.  He  is  very  much  excited.  He 
insists  on  seeing  the  editor-in-chief." 

"  Is  he  very  much  excited  ? "  replied  Mr. 
Dana,  turning  back  to  his  pile  of  proofs. 
"  If  you  think  it  worth  the  space,  ask  Amos 
Cummings  if  he  will  kindly  see  the  gentle- 
man and  write  him  up." 

His  judgment  of  the  merits  of  articles 
submitted  to  him  is,  to  an  extent  rarely 
equalled,  independent  of  the  writer's  liter- 
ary reputation.  A  famous  name  is  no  pass- 
port to  his  admiration.  I  think  that  Mr. 
Dana  would  write  "  Respectfully  declined," 
or  even  "  Nothing  in  it  !  "  on  a  scrap  of 
paper,  and  fold  the  same  around  a  manu- 
script from  Mr.  Gladstone,  providing  it  did 
not  seem  useful  to  him,  with  as  little  hesi- 
tation as  across  a  poem  on  "  Spring"  from 
a  schoolma'am  in  the  backwoods  of  Maine 
or  Georgia.  If  he  were  prejudiced  either 
way,  it  would  be  in  favor  of  the  unknown 
schoolma'am  struggling  to  find  an  outlet 
for  her  poetic  sentiment.  It  is  a  source  of 
great  satisfaction  to  him  to  discover  in 
out-of-the-way  corners  genius  that  has  not 
been  recognized,  and  to  help  it  out  of  ob- 
scurity. This  benevolent  weakness  has  cost 
him,  in  the  aggregate,  thousands  of  hours 
of  valuable  time  spent  in  the  personal  at- 
tempt to  make  a  poor  thing  presentable, 
or  in  imparting  advice  and  kind  but 
frank  criticism  to  persons  unknown  to 
him. 

Once  a  clergyman  of  considerable  emi- 
nence and  sensational  proclivity  volun- 
teered to  write  anonymously  for  "  The  Sun." 
His  first  article  came.  He  had  made  the 
amazing  blunder  of  trying  to  adapt  himself 
to  what  he  supposed  to  be  the  worldly  and 
reckless  tone  proper  to  a  Sunday  news- 
paper. Mr.  Dana  chuckled  quietly  as  he 
sent  the  manuscript  back,  indorsed  in  blue 
pencil,  "  This  is  too  damned  wicked  !  " 

A  clerk  in  the  New  York  Post-Office,  sev- 
eral years  ago,  copied  out  in  his  own  hand- 
writing the  Rev.  Edward  Everett  Hale's 
story,  "  The  Man  Without  a  Country,"  and 
offered  it  to  "  The  Sun  "  as  original  matter 
for  ten  dollars.  He  had  evidently  found 
the  story  in  a  loose  copy  of  the  maga- 
zine where  it  was  first  published,  and  sup- 
posed it  to  be  forgotten  literature.  Some- 
body proposed  to  publish  the  impostor's 
name. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Dana.  "  Mark  the  manu- 
script '  Respectfully  declined,'  and  mail  it 


to  him.    He  has  been  honest  enough  to  in- 
close postage  stamps." 

XIII. 

MR.  DANA  looks  upon  the  daily  news- 
paper as  something  more  than  a  bulletin  of 
the  world's  events,  or  a  vehicle  for  contem- 
poraneous literature.  He  has  steadily  re- 
sisted the  modern  tendency  to  subordinate 
the  editorial  page,  or  to  render  it  a  mere 
reflection  of  public  or  partisan  sentiment 
as  understood  by  the  newspaper's  man- 
agers. 

"The  place  of  the  newspaper  press  in 
education,"  he  wrote  not  long  ago  in  reply 
to  a  question  from  the  State  Department  of 
Public  Instruction,  "  is  like  that  of  the  pul- 
pit. It  is  incidental,  not  essential."  But 
with  Mr.  Dana,  as  with  every  journalist 
who  is  influenced  by  his  brilliant  example, 
the  place  of  the  editorial  page  in  the  daily 
newspaper  is  essential,  and  not  merely  inci- 
dental. A  newspaper  without  positive,  inde- 
pendent, aggressive  convictions,  generated 
inside  and  not  outside  of  the  office,  and 
without  the  habit  of  uttering  them  fearless- 
ly, is  easy  enough  to  imagine  ;  but  it  would 
be  a  newspaper  without  Mr.  Dana. 

He  does  not  think  it  necessary  to  check 
off  every  piece  of  news,  or  even  every  im- 
portant piece  of  news,  with  a  corresponding 
paragraph  of  comment.  That  is  not  his 
idea  of  an  editorial  page. 

"  A  man  at  the  dinner  table,  or  anywhere 
else,"  he  said  one  day  to  a  new  writer, "  who 
insists  on  giving  you  his  opinion  about 
everything  on  earth,  is  a  bore.  So  is  the 
newspaper." 

He  has  no  hard  and  fast  rules  to  go  by 
in  the  selection  of  topics  for  editorial  treat- 
ment. You  can  never  tell  what  subjects 
Mr.  Dana  will  discuss,  or  what  subjects  he 
will  pass  over,  in  to-morrow's  "  Sun."  His 
inclination  is  always  towards  the  specific, 
rather  than  the  abstract ;  towards  the 
novel,  the  fresh,  the  unexpected,  rather  than 
the  matter-of-course.  He  would  leave 
over  an  article  any  day  on  "  The  State  of 
the  Union,"  in  favor  of  one  on  "  The  Mar- 
ket for  Poetry,"  or  "  The  Vitality  of  Islam," 
or  "  The  Sorrows  of  Rich  Men,"  or  "  How 
Engaged  Couples  Should  Act  ;  "  provid- 
ing the  latter  were  the  more  meritorious 
production,  and  seemed  to  him  likely 
to  be  read  with  more  interest  by  more 
people. 

He  has  always  believed  in  iteration  as 
an  agent  in  the  process  of  planting  ideas. 
"  If  you  say  a  true  and  important  thing 
once,  in  the  most  striking  way,  people  read 


102 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


it,  and  say  to  themselves,  '  That  is  very 
likely  so,'  and  forget  it.  If  you  keep  on 
saying  it,  over  and  over  again,  even  with 
less  felicity  of  expression,  you'll  hammer  it 
into  their  heads  so  firmly  that  they'll  say, 
'  It  is  so  ; '  and  they'll  remember  forever  it 
is  so." 

The  characteristics  of  the  man  are  in 
"  The  Sun."  His  broad  sense  of  news 
interest,  persistent,  inquisitive,  sympathetic, 
and  appreciative  in  a  thousand  different 
directions,  and  as  keen  with  respect  to 


sons  whom  he  is  supposed  to  regard  with 
unconditional  disapproval. 

The  strongest  and  steadiest  impulse  in 
Mr.  Dana's  mind  as  an  editor,  is  the  Amer- 
ican sentiment.  It  lies  deeper  than  his 
partisanship,  and  it  shapes  his  politics.  His 
political  philosophy  may  be  Jeffersonian  in 
its  conception  of  the  functions  and  limita- 
tions of  the  Federal  Government  in  ordi- 
nary times,  but  back  of  that  are  not  only 
the  patriotism  that  is  natural  to  his  tem- 
perament, but  also  that  broader  idea  of  the 


DOSORIS   BLUFF,  OVERLOOKING   LONG    ISLAND   SOUND. 


small  things  as  to  great,  shapes  every  part 
of  the  paper,  and  dominates  every  depart- 
ment. His  editorial  page  is  himself.  It 
reflects  his  independence  of  thought,  his 
self-reliance,  his  humor  and  philosophy, 
and  his  marked  partiality,  ethical  consid- 
erations being  equal,  or  nearly  so,  for  the 
cause  of  the  under  dog  in  the  fight.  No 
matter  how  the  crowd  shouts,  he  follows 
his  own  judgment.  He  follows  it  un- 
hesitatingly, and  without  worrying  about 
questions  of  expediency  as  affecting  him- 
self. He  is  loyal  beyond  most  men  in  his 
friendships,  and  positive,  although  less  per- 
sistent, and  rather  impersonal,  in  his  dis- 
likes. Nothing  is  more  common  than  to 
hear  him  speaking  kindly,  and  with  just 
appreciation  of  their  good  qualities,  of  per- 


nation's  might  and  destiny  which  was 
bred  in  him  by  the  events  of  the  years 
when  he  was  with  Lincoln  and  Stanton, 
and  with  the  armies  in  the  field. 

XIV. 

THE  revolution  which  his  genius  and  in- 
vention have  wrought  in  the  methods  of 
practical  journalism  in  America  during  the 
past  twenty-five  years  can  be  estimated 
only  by  newspaper  makers.  His  mind, 
always  original,  and  unblunted  and  un- 
wearied at  seventy-five,  has  been  a  prolific 
source  of  new  ideas  in  the  art  of  gathering, 
presenting,  and  discussing  attractively  the 
news  of  the  world.  He  is  a  radical  and 
unterrified  innovator,  caring  not  a  copper 


MR.  DANA    OF  "THE  SUN." 


103 


for  tradition  or  precedent  when  a  change 
of  method  promises  a  real  improvement. 
Restlessness  like  his,  without  his  genius, 
discrimination,  and  honesty  of  purpose, 
scatters  and  loses  itself  in  mere  whimsicali- 
ties or  pettinesses  ;  or  else  it  deliberately 
degrades  the  newspaper  upon  which  it  is 
exercised.  To  Mr.  Dana's  personal  inven- 
tion are  due  many,  if  not  most,  of  the 
broad  changes  which  within  a  quarter  of  a 
century  have  transformed  journalism  in 
this  country.  From  his  individual  percep- 
tion of  the  true' philosophy  of  human  in- 
terest, more  than  from  any  other  single 
source,  have  come  the  now  general  repudi- 
ation of  the  old  conventional  standards  of 
news  importance  ;  the  modern  newspaper's 
appreciation  of  the  news  value  of  the  senti- 
ment and  humor  of  the  daily  life  around 
us  ;  the  recognition  of  the  principle  that 
a  small  incident,  interesting  in  itself  and 
well  told,  may  be  worth  a  column's  space, 
when  a  large  dull  fact  is  hardly  worth  a 
stickful's  ;  the  surprising  extension  of  the 
daily  newspaper's  province  so  as  to  cover 
every  department  of  general  literature,  and 
to  take  in  the  world's  fancies  and  imagin- 
ings, as  well  as  its  actual  events.  The  word 
"news"  has  an  entirely  different  signifi- 
cance from  what  it  possessed  twenty-five  or 
thirty  years  ago  under  the  ancient  common 
law  of  journalism  as  derived  from  Eng- 
land ;  and  in  the  production  of  this  im- 
mense change,  greatly  in  the  interest  of 
mankind  and  of  the  cheerfulness  of  daily 
life,  it  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  the 
direct  and  indirect  influence  of  Mr.  Dana's 
alert,  scholarly,  and  widely  sympathetic 
perceptions. 

The  idea  of  the  newspaper  syndicate  sys- 
tem, extensively  and  successfully  applied 
during  the  past  ten  years,  and  with  such 
marked  effect*  upon  the  character  of  the 
miscellaneous  literature  furnished  to  the 
public  through  the  daily  press,  originated 
with  Mr.  Dana.  The  first  story  syndicated 
by  him,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  was  one  by 
Mr.  Bret  Harte,  in  1877  or  1878.  Soon  after 
that  he  purchased  a  number  of  short  stories 
from  some  of  the  most  eminent  of  living 
writers,  "  The  Sun  "  sharing  the  expense 
and  the  right  to  publish  the  series  with  half 
a  dozen  selected  journals  in  different  parts 
of  the  United  States.  One  of  these  stories 
was  a  tale  called  "  Georgina's  Reasons,"  by 
Mr.  Henry  James,  Jr.  A  circumstance  that 
seemed  highly  humorous  to  Mr.  Dana,  and 
particularly  so  in  view  of  Mr.  James's  fas- 
tidious ideas  of  literary  form,  was  that  one 
of  the  Western  journals  in  the  syndicate 
should  have  lent  distinction  to  the  narra- 


tive by  means  of  the  following  scheme  of 
headlines  in  large,  bold  type  : 

GEORGINA'S   REASONS! 
HENRY  JAMES'S   LATEST  STORY  I 

A    WOMAN    WHO    COMMITS   BIGAMY    AND 

ENFORCES    SILENCE    ON    HER    HUSBAND  ! 

TWO  OTHER  LIVES  MADE  MISERABLE  BY  HER 

HEARTLESS  ACTION  ! 

XV. 

MR.  DANA'S  life  outside  of  his  work  is 
his  own  property,  and  is  to  be  touched  here 
with  reserve.  From  late  in  the  autumn 
until  early  in  the  spring  he  occupies  his 
town  house  at  the  northwest  corner  of  Madi- 
son Avenue  and  Sixtieth  Street.  His  sum- 
mer home,  Dosoris,  two  or  three  miles  from 
the  village  of  Glen  Cove,  is  an  island  of 
about  fifty  acres,  in  the  Sound,  close  to  the 
Long  Island  shore,  and  connected  therewith 
by  a  short  bridge.  The  estate  gets  its  name 
from  the  circumstance  that  the  island  was 
once  a  wife's  dowry,  dos  uxoris.  Mr.  Dana 
bought  the  place  soon  after  his  return  from 
Chicago  to  New  York,  and  extended  and 
modernized  the  interior  of  the  homely,  com- 
fortable mansion,  which  is  just  visible, 
through  the  foliage,  from  the  passing  steam- 
boats in  the  Sound.  One  of  the  greatest  en- 
joyments of  his  life  has  been  found  in  the 
beautifying  of  Dosoris  Island.  Its  trees  and 
fruits  and  flowers  are  famous.  Its  proprie- 
tor is  an  accomplished  botanist,  a  zealous 
and  scientific  cultivator,  and  an  artist  who 
might  have  been  a  distinguished  landscape 
gardener  if  he  had  not  been  a  great  editor. 
He  has  made  Dosoris  a  wonderful  and  cele- 
brated arboretum  ;  but  to  most  visitors  it  is 
first  of  all  a  lovely  spot. 

An  eminent  painter  who  travelled  in 
Cuba  with  Mr.  Dana  several  years  ago, 
was  somewhat  puzzled  at  the  gratification 
which  his  companion  manifested  after  a  hot 
and  tiresome  excursion  in  the  hills  of  the 
Vuelta  Abajo.  He  did  not  learn  the  cause 
until  dinner-time.  Mr.  Dana  had  satisfied 
himself  by  personal  observation  that  the 
pinus  Elliotti)  or  some  other  special  pinus 
which  had  been  troubling  his  mind,  did 
grow  in  that  region.  He  regarded  the  day 
as  a  perfect  success. 

Mr.  Dana  is  fond  of  horses,  of  cattle,  of 
dogs,  even  of  pigs  and  feathered  bipeds. 
He  likes  to  have  life,  in  all  of  its  amiable 
forms,  animal  and  vegetable,  going  on 
healthily  and  happily  around  him. 


104 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


He  is  as  constant  in  his  tastes  as  in  his 
friendships.  An  intellectual  or  aesthetic 
pursuit  once  begun  by  him  becomes  a  last- 
ing occupation  and  resource.  Whether  he 
takes  up  orchids,  or  Norse  literature,  or 
early  Persian  ceramics,  his  interest  in  the 
subject  never  shades  back  into  indifference. 
His  collection  of  Chinese  porcelain  of  the 
best  period  is  noted  among  connoisseurs  for 
the  rarity  and  beauty  of  its  specimens,  and 
the  knowledge  governing  his  selections. 
In  pictorial  art,  his  special  fondness  is  for 
some  of  the  painters  of  the  Barbizon  school, 
as  shown  by  his  purchases ;  but  he  is  ap- 
preciative of  all  good  art.  He  has  never 
formed  a  large  library,  and  is  nothing  of  a 
bibliomaniac.  He  owns  some  rare  vol- 
umes, but,  as  a  rule,  books  are  with  him 
tools  rather  than  treasures.  He  cares  noth- 
ing for  acquisition  for  the  sake  of.  display. 
He  is  fond  of  showing  his  pictures,  or  his 
china,  or  his  trees,  to  those  who  can  share 
his  own  unaffected  enjoyment  of  them. 


He  is  a  companionable  man,  and  he  likes 
to  gather  entertaining  people  around  him. 
His  circle  of  personal  acquaintance  is  re- 
markably large  and  various.  He  can  be 
happy  in  the  society  of  any  refined  person 
able  to  interest  him,  but  he  is  happiest  with 
his  own  family,  his  children  and  grand- 
children. For  twenty  years  his  most  inti- 
mate friend  and  most  constant  companion 
has  been  his  son  and  principal  professional 
assistant,  Mr.  Paul  Dana. 

A  few  weeks  ago,  just  two  days  before 
he  was  seventy-five  years  old,  Mr.  Dana 
climbed  to  the  top  of  Croydon  Mountain 
in  New  Hampshire,  leading  a  party  of  much 
younger  men  who  came  toiling  and  puffing 
after  him.  In  his  editorial  office  he  is 
hard  at  work  six  days  in  the  week,  put- 
ting in  like  a  boy  of  fifty,  and  still  set- 
ting the  pace  for  the  profession  which 
acknowledges  him  as  its  leader.  To  his 
own  mind  there  is  nothing  extraordinary 
in  this. 


PORTRAITS    OF    CHARLES    A.    DANA. 


1852.      AGE    33. 


io6 


H  UMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


1857        AGE   38. 


1865.      AGE 


1867.      AGE   48. 


1882.       AGE    63 


PORTRAITS  OF  CHARLES  A.   DANA. 


107 


1869.      AGE   50. 


io8 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MR.  DANA    BEFORE    GRANT'S    HEADQUARTERS   AT   SPOTTSYLVANIA,   1864.      AGE   44. 


CHARLES  A.   DANA. 


109 


1894.      AGE   75.       FROM    A    PHOTOGRAPH    BY   ANDERSON,    NEW    YORK. 


no 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MR.  DANA   AT  THE    PRESENT   DAY.      FROM   A    PHOTOGRAPH    TAKEN    BY    HIS   SON,  MR.  PAUL   DANA. 


MY    FIRST    BOOK— "TREASURE    ISLAND." 

BY  ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON. 


IT  was  far,  indeed,  from  being  my  first 
book,  for  I  am  not  a  novelist  alone. 
But  I  am  well  aware  that  my  paymaster,  the 
great  public,  regards  what  else  I  have  writ- 
ten with  indifference,  if  not  aversion.  If  it 
call  upon  me  at  all,  it  calls  on  me  in  the 
familiar  and  indelible  character  ;  and  when 
1  am  asked  to  talk  of  my  first  book,  no  ques- 
tion in  the  world  but  what  is  meant  is  my 
first  novel. 

Sooner  or  later,  somehow,  anyhow,  I  was 
•bound  I  was  to  write  a  novel.  It  seems 
vain  to  ask  why.  Men  are  born  with  vari- 
ous manias  :  from  my  earliest  childhood  it 
was  mine  to  make  a  plaything  of  imaginary 
series  of  events  ;  and  as  soon  as  I  was  able 
to  write,  I  became  a  good  friend  to  the 
paper-makers.  Reams  upon  reams  must 
have  gone  to  the  making  of  "  Rathillet," 
the  "  Pentland  Rising,"*  the  "  King's  Par- 
don "  (otherwise  "  Park  Whitehead "), 
"  Edward  Darren,"  "  A  Country  Dance," 
and  a  "  Vendetta  in  the  West  ;  "  and  it  is 
consolatory  to  remember  that  these  reams 
are  now  all  ashes,  and  have  been  received 
again  into  the  soil.  I  have  named  but  a  few 
of  my  ill-fated  efforts  :  only  such,  indeed, 
as  came  to  a  fair  bulk  ere  they  were  desisted 
from  ;  and  even  so,  they  cover  a  long  vista 
of  years.  "  Rathillet  "  was  attempted  be- 
fore fifteen,  the  "  Vendetta  "  at  twenty-nine, 
and  the  succession  of  defeats^lasted  un- 
broken till  I  was  thirty-one.  By  that  time 
I  had  written  little  books  and  little  essays 
and  short  stories,  and  had  got  patted  on  the 
back  and  paid  for  them — though  not  enough 
to  live  upon.  I  had  quite  a  reputation.  I 
was  the  successful  man.  I  passed  my  days 
in  toil,  the  futility  of  which  would  some- 
times make  my  cheek  to  burn, — that  I  should 
spend  a  man's  energy  upon  this  business, 
and  yet  could  not  earn  a  livelihood  ;  and 
still  there  shone  ahead  of  me  an  unattained 
ideal.  Although  I  had  attempted  the  thing 
with  vigor  not  less  than  ten  or  twelve  times, 
I  had  not  yet  written  a  novel.  All — all  my 
pretty  ones — had  gone  for  a  little,  and  then 
stopped  inexorably,  like  a  schoolboy's  watch. 

*  Ne pas  confondre.  Not  the  slim  green  pamphlet  with 
the  imprint  of  Andrew  Elliott,  for  which  (as  I  see  with 
amazement  from  the  booklists)  the  gentlemen  of  England 
are  willing  to  pay  fancy  prices  ;  but  its  predecessor,  a  bulky 
historical  romance  without  a  spark  c-*  merit,  and  now  de- 
leted from  the  world. 


I  might  be  compared  to  a  cricketer  of  many 
years'  standing  who  should  never  have  made 
a  run.  Anybody  can  write  a  short  story — a 
bad  one,  I  mean — who  has  industry  and 
paper  and  time  enough  ;  but  not  every  one 
may  hope  to  write  even  a  bad  novel.  It  is 
the  length  that  kills.  'I  he  accepted  novelist 
may  take  his  novel  up  and  put  it  down, 
spend  days  upon  it  in  vain,  and  write  not 
any  more  than  he  makes  haste  to  blot.  Not 
so  the  beginner.  Human  nature  has  cer- 
tain rights  ;  instinct — the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation — forbids  that  any  manfcheered 
and  supported  by  the  consciousness  of  no 
previous  victory)  should  endure  the  miseries 
of  unsuccessful  literary  toil  beyond  a  period 
to  be  measured  in  weeks.  There  must  be 
something  for  hope  to  feed  upon.  The  be- 
ginner must  have  a  slant  of  wind,  a  lucky 
vein  must  be  running,  he  must  be  in  one  of 
those  hours  when  the  words  come  and  the 
phrases  balance  of  themselves — even  to  begin. 
And  having  begun,  what  a  dread  looking 


LLOYD  OSBOURNE,  THE  "  SCHOOLBOY  IN  THE  LATE  MISS 
MCGREGOR'S  COTTAGE." 


112 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS, 


xgl^pllg^^ ' 


THE   STEVENSON    FAMILY    COTTAGE   ABOVE    PITLOCHRY. 


PITLOCHRY,    A   VILLAGE   NEAR  THE   STEVENSON    COTTAGE. 

From  a  photograph  by  G.  W.  Wilson  &  Co.,  Aberdeen 


MY  FIRST  BOOK—1'  TREASURE  ISLAND." 


SPITTAL   OF   GLENSHEE. 


forward  is  that  until  the  book  shall  be  ac- 
complished !  For  so  long  a  time  the  slant 
is  to  continue  unchanged,  the  vein  to  keep 
running  ;  for  so  long  a  time  you  must  hold 
at  command  the  same  quality  of  style  ;  for 
so  long  a  time  your  puppets  are  to  be 
always  vital,  always  consistent,  always  vigor- 
ous. I  remember  I  used  to  look,  in  those 
days,  upon  every  three-volume  novel  with  a 
sort  of  veneration,  as  a  feat — not  possibly 
of  literature — but  at  least  of  physical  and 
moral  endurance  and  the  courage  of  Ajax. 

In  the  fated  year  I  came  to  live  with  my 
father  and  mother  at  Kinnaird,  above  Pit- 
lochry.  There  I  walked  on  the  red  moors 
and  by  the  side  of  the  golden  burn.  The 
rude,  pure  air  of  our  mountains  inspirited, 
if  it  did  not  inspire  us  ;  and  my  wife  and  I 
projected  a  joint  volume  of  bogie  stories, 
for  which  she  wrote  "  The  Shadow  on  the 
Bed,"  and  I  turned  out  "  Thrawn  Janet," 
and  a  first  draft  of  the  "  Merry  Men."  I 
love  my  native  air,  but  it  does  not  love  me  ; 
and  the  end  of  this  delightful  period  was  a 
cold,  a  fly  blister,  and  a  migration,  by  Strath- 
airdle  and  Glenshee,  to  the  Castleton  of 
Braemar.  There  it  blew  a  good  deal  and 
rained  in  proportion.  My  native  air  was 
more  unkind  than  man's  ingratitude  ;  and  I 
must  consent  to  pass  a  good  deal  of  my 


time  between  four  walls  in  a  house  lugubri- 
ously known  as  "  the  late  Miss  McGregor's 
cottage."  And  now  admire  the  finger  of 
predestination.  There  was  a  schoolboy  in 
the  late  Miss  McGregor's  cottage,  home  for 
the  holidays,  and  much  in  want  of  "  some- 
thing craggy  to  break  his  mind  upon."  He 
had  no  thought  of  literature  ;  it  was  the  art 
of  Raphael  that  received  his  fleeting  suf- 
frages, and  with  the  aid  of  pen  and  ink,  and 
a  shilling  box  of  water-colors,  he  had  soon 
turned  one  of  the  rooms  into  a  picture  gal- 
lery. My  more  immediate  duty  towards 
the  gallery  was  to  be  showman  ;  but  I 
would  sometimes  unbend  a  little,  join  the 
artist  (so  to  speak)  at  the  easel,  and  pass 
the  afternoon  with  him  in  a  generous  emula- 
tion, making  colored  drawings.  On  one  of 
these  occasions  I  made  the  map  of  an  island  ; 
it  was  elaborately  and  (I  thought)  beautifully 
colored  ;  the  shape  of  it  took  my  fancy  be- 
yond expression  ;  it  contained  harbors  that 
pleased  me  like  sonnets  ;  and,  with  the  un- 
consciousness of  the  predestined,  I  ticketed 
my  performance  "  Treasure  Island."  I  am 
told  there  are  people  who  do  not  care  for 
maps,  and  find  it  hard  to  believe.  The 
names,  the  shapes  of  the  woodlands,  the 
courses  of  the  roads  and  rivers,  the  prehis- 
toric footsteps  of  man  still  distinctly  trace- 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS, 


ROBERT   LOUIS   STKVENSON. 

From  a  photograph  by  Sir  Percy  Shelley. 


MY  FIRST  BOOK- -"  TREASURE  ISLAND. 


MRS.    ROBERT    LOUIS   STEVENSON. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


able  up  hill  and  down  dale,  the  mills  and  the 
ruins,  the  ponds  and  the  ferries,  perhaps  the 
"  Standing  Stone"  or  the  "  Druidic  Circle  " 
on  the  heath — here  is  an  inexhaustible  fund 
of  interest  for  any  man  with  eyes  to  see,  or 
twopence  worth  of  imagination  to  under- 
stand with.  No  child  but  must  remember 
laying  his  head  in  the  grass,  staring  into 
the  infinitesimal  forest,  and  seeing  it  grow 
populous  with  fairy  armies.  Somewhat  in 
this  way,  as  I  pored  upon  my  map  of 
"Treasure  Island,"  the  future  characters  of 
the  book  began  to  appear  there  visibly 
among  imaginary  woods  ;  and  their  brown 
faces  and  bright  weapons  peeped  out  upon 
me  from  unexpected  quarters,  as  they 
passed  to  and  fro,  fighting  and  hunting 
treasure,  on  these  few  square  inches  of  a 
flat  projection.  The  next  thing  I  knew,  I 
had  some  paper  before  me  and  was  writing 
out  a  list  of  chapters.  How  often  have  I 
done  so,  and  the  thing  gone  no  farther ! 
But  there  seemed  elements  of  success  about 
this  enterprise.  It  was  to  be  a  story  for 
boys  ;  no  need  of  psychology  or  fine  writ- 
ing ;  and  I  had  a  boy  at  hand  to  be  a 
touchstone.  Women  were  excluded.  I  was 
unable  to  handle  a  brig  (which  the  "  His- 
paniola"  should  have  been),  but  I  thought 
I  could  make  shift  to  sail  her  as  a  schooner 
without  public  shame.  And  then  I  had  an 
idea  for  John  Silver  from  which  I  promised 
myself  funds  of  entertainment :  to  take  an 


admired  friend  of  mine  (whom  the  reader  very 
likely  knows  and  admires  as  much  as  I  do), 
to  deprive  him  of  all  his  finer  qualities  and 
higher  graces  of  temperament,  to  leave  him 
with  nothing  but  his  strength,  his  courage, 
his  quickness,  and  his  magnificent  geniality, 
and  to  try  to  express  these  in  terms  of  the 
culture  of  a  raw  tarpaulin.  Such  psychical 
surgery  is,  I  think,  a  common  way  of  "  mak- 
ing character;"  perhaps  it  is,  indeed,  the 
only  way.  We  can  put  in  the  quaint  figure 
that  spoke  a  hundred  words  with  us  yester- 
day by  the  wayside  ;  but  do  we  know  him  ? 
Our  friend,  with  his  infinite  variety  and 
flexibility,  we  know — but  can  we  put  him 
in?  Upon  the  first  we  must  engraft  secon- 
dary and  imaginary  qualities,  possibly  all 
wrong ;  from  the  second,  knife  in  hand,  we 
must  cut  away  and  deduct  the  needless 
arborescence  of  his  nature  ;  but  the  trunk 
and  the  few  branches  that  remain  we  may 
at  least  be  fairly  sure  of. 

On  a  chill  September  morning,  by  the 
cheek  of  a  brisk  fire,  and  the  rain  drum- 
ming on  the  window,  I  began  the  "  Sea 
Cook,"  for  that  was  the  original  title.  I 
have  begun  (and  finished)  a  number  of 
other  books,  but  I  cannot  remember  to 
have  sat  down  to  one  of  them  with  more 
complacency.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
for  stolen  waters  are  proverbially  sweet. 
I  am  now  upon  a  painful  chapter.  No 
doubt  the  parrot  once  belonged  to  Robin- 


CASTLETON    OF    BRAEMAR,    FROM    MORRONB. 

Photograph  by  G.  W.  Wilson  &  Co.,  Aberdeen. 


MY  FIRST  BOOK—1'  TREASURE  ISLAND. 


117 


.  1834. 


"THE  LATE  MISS  MCGREGOR'S  COTTAGE,"  BKAEMAR. 


son  Crusoe.  No  doubt  the  skeleton  is  con- 
veyed from  Poe.  I  think  little  of  these, 
they  are  trifles  and  details  ;  and  no  man 
can  hope  to  have  a  monopoly  of  skeletons 
or  make  a  corner  in  talking-birds.  The 
stockade,  I  am  told,  is  from  "  Masterman 
Ready."  It  may  be — I  care  not  a  jot. 
These  useful  writers  had  fulfilled  the  poet's 
saying :  departing,  they  had  left  behind 
them 

"  Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time  ; 
Footprints  that  perhaps  another " 

and  I  was  the  other  !  It  is  my  debt  to 
Washington  Irving  that  exercises  my  con- 
science, and  justly  so,  for  I  believe  plagiar- 
ism was  rarely  carried  farther.  I  chanced 
to  pick  up  the  "  Tales  of  a  Traveller  "  some 
years  ago,  with  a  view  to  an  anthology  of 
prose  narrative,  and  the  book  flew  up  and 
struck  me  :  Billy  Bones,  his  chest,  the  com- 
pany in  the  parlor,  the  whole  inner  spirit 
and  a  good  deal  of  the  material  detail  of 
my  first  chapters — all  were  there,  all  were 
the  property  of  Washington  Irving.  But  I 
had  no  guess  of  it  then  as  I  sat  writing  by 


the  fireside,  in  what  seemed  the  springtides 
of  a  somewhat  pedestrian  inspiration  ;  nor 
yet  day  by  day,  after  lunch,  as  I  read 
aloud  my  morning's  work  to  the  family.  It 
seemed  to  me  original  as  sin  ;  it  seemed  to 
belong  to  me  like  my  right  eye.  I  had 
counted  on  one  boy ;  I  found  I  had  two 
in  my  audience.  My  father  caught  fire  at 
once  with  all  the  romance  and  childishness 
of  his  original  nature.  His  own  stories, 
that  every  night  of  his  life  he  put  himself 
to  sleep  with,  dealt  perpetually  with  ships, 
roadside  inns,  robbers,  old  sailors,  and  com- 
mercial travellers  before  the  era  of  steam. 
He  never  finished  one  of  these  romances  : 
the  lucky  man  did  not  require  to  !  But  in 
"  Treasure  Island  "  he  recognized  some- 
thing kindred  to  his  own  imagination  ;  it 
was  his  kind  of  picturesque  ;  and  he  not 
only  heard  with  delight  the  daily  chapter, 
but  set  himself  actively  to  collaborate. 
When  the  time  came  for  Bill}-  Bones's 
chest  to  be  ransacked,  he  must  have  passed 
the  better  part  of  a  day  preparing,  on  the 
back  of  a  legal  envelope,  an  inventory  of 
its  contents,  which  I  exactly  followed  ;  and 


n8 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BRAKMAR,  FROM  CRAIG  COVNACH. 

Photograph  by  G.  W.  Wilson  &  Co.,  Aberdeen. 


the  name  of  "  Flint's  old  ship,"  the  "  Wal- 
rus," was  given  at  his  particular  request. 
And  now,  who  should  come  dropping  in, 
ex  machina,  but  Dr.  Jaap,  like  the  dis- 
guised prince  who  is  to  bring  down  the 
curtain  upon  peace  and  happiness  in  the 
last  act,  for  he  carried  in  his  pocket  not  a 
horn  or  a  talisman,  but  a  publisher — had, 
in  fact,  been  charged  by  my  old  friend 
Mr.  Henderson  to  unearth  new  writers  for 
"  Young  Folks."  Even  the  ruthlessness  of 
a  united  family  recoiled  before  the  extreme 
measure  of  inflicting  on  our  guest  the  muti- 
lated members  of  the  "Sea  Cook  ;  "  at  the 
same  time  we  would  by  no  means  stop  our 
readings,  and  accordingly  the  tale  was  be- 
gun again  at  the  beginning,  and  solemnly 
redelivered  for  the  benefit  of  Dr.  Jaap. 
From  that  moment  on  I  have  thought 
highly  of  his  critical  faculty ;  for  when  he 
left  us,  he  carried  away  the  manuscript  in 
his  portmanteau. 

Here,  then,  was  everything  to  keep  me 
up — sympathy,  help,  and  now  a  positive 
engagement.  I  had  chosen  besides  a  very 
easy  style.  Compare  it  with  the  almost 
contemporary  "  Merry  Men  ;  "  one  may  pre- 
fer the  one  style,  one  the  other — 'tis  an  affair 
of  character,  perhaps  of  mood  ;  but  no 
expert  can  fail  to  see  that  the  one  is  much 
more  difficult,  and  the  other  much  easier, 
to  maintain.  It  seems  as  though  a  full- 
grown,  experienced  man  of  letters  might 


engage  to  turn  out  "  Treasure  Island  "  at  so 
many  pages  a  day,  and  keep  his  pipe  alight. 
But  alas  !  this  was  not  my  case.  Fifteen 
days  I  stuck  to  it,  and  turned  out  fifteen 
chapters  ;  and  then,  in  the  early  paragraphs 
of  the  sixteenth,  ignominiously  lost  hold. 
My  mouth  was  empty ;  there  was  not  one 
word  more  of  "  Treasure  Island  "  in  my 
bosom  ;  and  here  were  the  proofs  of  the 
beginning  already  waiting  me  at  the  "  Hand 
and  Spear"!  There  I  corrected  them, 
living  for  the  most  part  alone,  walking  on 
1  the  heath  at  Weybridge  in  dewy  autumn 
mornings,  a  good  deal  pleased  with  what  I 
had  done,  and  more  appalled  than  I  can 
depict  to  you  in  words  at  what  remained 
for  me  to  do.  I  was  thirty-one  ;  I  was  the 
head  of  a  family  ;  I  had  lost  my  health  ;  I 
had  never  yet  paid  my  way,  had  never  yet 
made  two  hundreds  pounds  a  year ;  my 
father  had  quite  recently  bought  back  and 
cancelled  a  book  that  was  judged  a  failure  ; 
was  this  to  be  another  and  last  fiasco  ?  I 
was  indeed  very  close  on  despair  ;  but  I 
shut  my  mouth  hard,  and  during  the  journey 
to  Davos,  where  I  was  to  pass  the  winter, 
had  the  resolution  to  think  of  other  things, 
and  bury  myself  in  the  novels  of  M.  du 
Boisgobey.  Arrived  at  my  destination, 
down  I  sat  one  morning  to  the  unfinished 
tale,  and  behold  !  it  flowed  from  me  like 
small  talk  ;  and  in  a  second  tide  of  delighted 
industry,  and  again  at  the  rate  of  a  chapter 


MY  FIRST  BOOK—"  TREASURE  ISLAND." 


119 


a  day,  I  finished  "  Treasure  Island."  It 
had  to  be  transacted  almost  secretly.  My 
wife  was  ill,  the  schoolboy  remained  alone 
of  the  faithful,  and  John  Addington  Symonds 
(to  whom  I  timidly  mentioned  what  I  was 
engaged  on)  looked  at  me  askance  He 
was  at  that  time  very  eager  I  should  write 
on  the  l<  Characters  "  of  Theophrastus,  so 
far  out  may  be  the  judgments  of  the  wisest 
men.  But  Symonds  (to  be  sure)  was  scarce 
the  confidant  to  go  to  for  sympathy  in  a 
boy's  story.  He  was  large-minded  ;  "  a  full 
man,"  if  there  ever  was  one  ;  but  the  very 
name  of  my  enterprise  would  suggest  to  him 
only  capitulations  of  sincerity  and  solecisms 
of  style.  Well,  he  was  not  far  wrong. 

"Treasure  Island"— it  was  Mr.  Hender- 
son who  deleted  the  first  title,  "  The  Sea 
Cook  "  — appeared  duly  in  the  story  paper, 
where  it  figured  in  the  ignoble  midst  without 
woodcuts,  and  attracted  not  the  least  atten- 
tion. I  did  not  care.  I  liked  the  tale  my- 
self, for  much  the  same  reason  as  my  father 
liked  the  beginning:  it  was  my  kind  of  pict- 
uresque. I  was  not  a  little  proud  of  John 
Silver  also,  and  to  this  day  rather  admire 
that  smooth  and  formidable  adventurer. 
What  was  infinitely  more  exhilarating,  I 
had  passed  a  landmark  ;  I  had  finished  a 
tale,  and  written  "  The  End "  upon  my 
manuscript,  as  I  had  not  done  since  the 
•'  Pentland  Rising,"  when  I  was  a  boy  of 
sixteen,  not  yet  at  college.  In  truth  it  was 
so  by  a  set  of  lucky  accidents  :  had  not  Dr. 


Jaap  come  on  his  visit,  had  not  the  tale 
flowed  from  me  with  singular  ease,  it  must 
have  been  laid  aside  like  its  predecessors, 
and  found  a  circuitous  and  unlamented  way 
to  the  fire.  Purists  may  suggest  it  would 
have  been  better  so.  I  am  not  of  that 
mind.  The  tale  seems  to  have  given  much 
pleasure,  and  it  brought  (or  was  the  means 
of  bringing)  fire  and  food  and  wine  to  a 
deserving  family  in  which  I  took  an  interest. 
I  need  scarce  say  I  mean  my  own. 

But  the  adventures  of  "  Treasure  Island  " 
are  not  yet  quite  at  an  end.  I  had  written 
it  up  to  the  map.  The  map  was  the  chief 
part  of  my  plot.  For  instance,  I  had  called 
an  islet  "  Skeleton  Island,"  not  knowing 
what  I  meant,  seeking  only  for  the  imme- 
diate picturesque  ;  and  it  was  to  justify  this 
name  that  I  broke  into  the  gallery  of  Mr. 
Poe  and  stole  Flint's  pointer.  And  in  the 
same  way,  it  was  because  I  had  made  two 
harbors  that  the  "  Hispaniola"  was  sent  on 
her  wanderings  with  Israel  Hands.  The 
time  came  when  it  was  decided  to  repub- 
lish,  and  I  sent  in  my  manuscript  and  the 
map  along  with  it  to  Messrs.  Cassell.  The 
proofs  came,  they  were  corrected,  but  I 
heard  nothing  of  the  map.  I  wrote  and 
asked  ;  was  told  it  had  never  been  received, 
and  sat  aghast.  It  is  one  thing  to  draw 
a  map  at  random,  set  a  scale  in  one  corner 
of  it  at  a  venture,  and  write  up  a  story 
to  the  measurements.  It  is  quite  another 
to  have  to  examine  a  whole  book,  make  an 


MOULIN,    ANOTHER   VILLAGE   NEAR   THE   STEVENSON    COTTAGE.      THIS   VIEW    IS   FROM   THE    SOUTH. 


120 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


STEVENSON    IN    1893. 

From  a  photograph  taken  in  Australia. 


inventory  of  all  the  allusions  contained  in 
it,  and  with  a  pair  of  compasses  painfully 
design  a  map  to  suit  the  data.  I  did 
it,  and  the  map  was  drawn  again  in  my 
father's  office,  with  embellishments  of  blow- 
ing whales  and  sailing  ships  ;  and  my  father 
himself  brought  into  service  a  knack  he  had 
of  various  writing,  and  elaborately  forged 
the  signature  of  Captain  Flint  and  the  sail- 
ing directions  of  Billy  Bones.  But  some- 
how it  was  never  "  Treasure  Island  "  to  me. 
I  have  said  it  was  the  most  of  the  plot. 
I  might  almost  say  it  was  the  whole.  A 
few  reminiscences  of  Poe,  Defoe,  and 
Washington  Irving,  a  copy  of  Johnson's 


"  Buccaneers,"  the  name  of  the  Dead  Man's 
Chest  from  Kingsley's  "At  Last,"  some 
recollections  of  canoeing  on  the  high  seas, 
a  cruise  in  a  fifteen-ton  schooner  yacht, 
and  the  map  itself  with  its  infinite,  eloquent 
suggestion,  made  up  the  whole  of  my  mate- 
rials. It  is  perhaps  not  often  that  a  map 
figures  so  largely  in  a  tale  ;  yet  it  is  always 
important.  The  author  must  know  his 
countryside,  whether  real  or  imaginary,  like 
his  hand  ;  the  distances,  the  points  of  the 
compass,  the  place  of  the  sun's  rising,  the 
behavior  of  the  moon,  should  all  be  beyond 
cavil.  And  how  troublesome  the  moon  is  ! 
I  have  come  to  grief  over  the  moon  in 


MY  FIRST  BOOK—"  TREASURE  ISLAND." 


121 


"  Prince  Otto  ;  "  and,  so  soon  as  that  was 
pointed  out  to  me,  adopted  a  precaution 
which  I  recommend  to  other  men — I  never 
write  now  without  an  almanac.  With  an 
almanac,  and  the  map  of  the  country  and 
the  plan  of  every  house,  either  actually 
plotted  on  paper  or  clearly  and  immediately 
apprehended  in  the  mind,  a  man  may  hope 
to  avoid  some  of  the  grossest  possible 
blunders.  With  the  map  before  him,  he 
will  scarce  allow  the  sun  to  set  in  the  east, 
as  it  does  in  the  "Antiquary."  With  the 
almanac  at  hand,  he  will  scarce  allow  two 
horsemen,  journeying  on  the  most  urgent 
affair,  to  employ  six  days,  from  three  of 
the  Monday  morning  till  late  in  the  Satur- 
day night,  upon  a  journey  of,  say,  ninety  or 
a  hundred  miles  ;  and  before  the  week  is 
out,  and  still  on  the  same  nags,  to  cover 
fifty  in  one  day,  as  he  may  read  at  length 
in  the  inimitable  novel  of  "  Rob  Roy." 


And  it  is  certainly  well,  though  far  from 
necessary,  to  avoid  such  croppers.  But  it 
is  my  contention — my  superstition,  if  you 
like — that  he  who  is  faithful  to  his  map, 
and  consults  it,  and  draws  from  it  his  in- 
spiration, daily  and  hourly,  gains  positive 
support,  and  not  mere  negative  immunity 
from  accident.  The  tale  has  a  root  there  ; 
it  grows  in  that  soil  ;  it  has  a  spine  of  its 
own  behind  the  words.  Better  if  the  coun- 
try be  real,  and  he  has  walked  every  foot 
of  it  and  knows  every  milestone.  But. 
even  with  imaginary  places,  he  will  do  well 
in  the  beginning  to  provide  a  map.  As  he 
studies  it,  relations  will  appear  that  he  had 
not  thought  upon.  He  will  discover  obvi- 
ous though  unsuspected  shortcuts  and  foot- 
paths for  his  messengers  ;  and  even  when 
a  map  is  not  all  the  plot,  as  it  was  in 
"  Treasure  Island,"  it  will  be  found  to  be 
a  mine  of  suggestion. 


•  VAILIMA,"  STEVENSON'S  HOUSE  NEAR  APIA,  SAMOA. 


9 


PORTRAITS    OF    ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON. 

Born  November  13,   1850;    died  December  3,   1894. 


AGE   20   MONTHS.      1852. 


AGE   6.      1857. 


AGE    14.       1865. 


PORTRAITS   OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON. 


123 


AGE    19.       1870. 


124 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


AGE  21.      1872. 


AGE   24.       1875. 


AGE   42.       AUSTRALIA,    1893. 


PORTRAITS  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON. 


I25 


AGE  48.      AUSTRALIA,    1893.      THESE    FOUR    PORTRAITS   ARE    ALL  OF   ONE   TIME 


126 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


AN    AFTERNOON    WITH    OLIVER   WENDELL    HOLMES. 


BY  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 


DOROTHY    Q. 


Y  first  recollection  of 
Dr.  Holmes  is  -seeing 
him  standing  on  a 
bench  at  a  college  din- 
ner when  I  was  a  boy, 
in  the  year  1836.  He 
was  full  of  life  and  fun, 
and  was  delivering — I 
do  not  say  reading — one 
of  his  little  college 
poems.  He  always 
writes  them  with  joy, 
and  recites  them — if  that 
is  the  word  —  with  a 

From    the    portrait    in     Spirit      not      to      be      de- 

Dr.  Hoimes's  study.  scribed.  For  he  is  a 
born  orator,  with  what 
people  call  a  sympathetic  voice,  wholly 
under  his  own  command,  and  entirely  free 
from  any  of  the  tricks  of  elocution.  It 
seems  to  me  that  no  one  really  knows  his 
poems  to  the  very  best  who  has  not  had 
the  good  fortune  to  hear  him  read  some 
of  them. 

But  I  had  known  all  about  him  before 
that.  As  little  boys,  we  had  by  heart,  in 
those  days,  the  song  which  saved  "  Old 
Ironsides  "  from  destruction.  That  was 
the  pet  name  of  the  frigate  "  Constitu- 
tion," which  was  a  pet  Boston  ship,  be- 
cause she  had  been  built  at  a  Boston 
shipyard,  had  been  sailed  with  Yankee 
crews,  and,  more  than  once,  had  brought 
her  prizes  into  Boston  Harbor. 

We  used  to  spout  at  school  : 

"  Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag. 
Spread  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, 
The  lightning  and  the  gale  !  " 

Ah  me!  There  had  been  a  Phi  Beta 
anniversary  not  long  before,  where  Holmes 
had  delivered  a  poem.  You  may  read 
"  Poetry,  a  Metrical  Essay,"  in  the  volumes 
now.  But  you  will  look  in  vain  for  the 
covert  allusions  to  Julia  and  Susan  and 
Elizabeth  and  the  rest,  which,  to  those 
who  knew,  meant  the  choicest  belles  of 
our  little  company.  Have  the  queens  of 
to-day  any  such  honors  ? 

Nobody  is  more  accessible  than  Dr. 
Holmes.  I  doubt  if  any  doorbell  in  Bos- 
ton is  more  rung  than  his.  And  nowhere 


is  the  visitor  made  more  kindly  at  home. 
His  own  work-room  takes  in  all  the  widtfi 
of  a  large  house  in  Beacon  Street  ;  a  wide 
window  commands  the  sweep  of  the  mouth 
of  Charles  River  ;  in  summer  the  gulls  are 
hovering  above  it,  in  winter  you  may  see 
them  chaffing  together  on  bits  of  floating 
ice,  which  is  on  its  way  to  the  sea.  Across 
that  water,  by  stealthy  rowing,  the  boats 
of  the  English  squadron  carried  the  men 
who  were  to  die  at  Concord  the  next  day, 
at  Concord  Bridge.  Beyond  is  Bunker 
Hill  Monument  ;  and  just  this  side  of  the 
monument  Paul  Revere  crossed  the  same 
river  to  say  that  that  English  army  was 
coming. 

For  me,  I  had  to  deliver  on  Emerson's 
ninetieth  birthday  an  address  on  my 
memories  of  him  and  his  life.  Holmes 
used  to  meet  him,  from  college  days  down, 
in  a  thousand  ways,  and  has  written  a 
charming  memoir  of  his  life.  I  went 
round  there  one  day,  therefore,  to  ask 
some  questions,  which  might  put  my  own 
memories  of  Emerson  in  better  light,  and 
afterwards  I  obtained  his  leave  to  make 
this  sketch  of  the  talk  of  half  an  hour. 
When  we  think  of  it  here,  if  we  ever  fall 
to  talking  about  such  things,  every  one 
would  say  that  Holmes  is  the  best  talker 
we  have  or  know.  But  when  you  are  with 
him,  you  do  not  think  whether  he  is  or  is 
not.  You  are  under  the  spell  of  his  kind- 
ness and  genius.  Still  no  minute  passes 
in  which  you  do  not  say  to  yourself  :  "  I 
hope  I  shall  remember  those  very  words 
always." 

Thinking  of  it  after  I  come  home,  I  am 
reminded  of  the  flow  and  fun  of  the 
Autocrat.  But  you  never  say  so  to  your- 
self when  you  are  sitting  in  his  room. 

I  had  arranged  with  my  friend  Mr. 
Sample  that  he  should  carry  his  camera 
to  the  house,  and  it  was  in  gaps  in  this  very 
conversation  that  the  picture  of  both  of 
us  was  taken.  I  told  Dr.  Holmes  how 
pleased  I  was  at  this  chance  of  going  to 
posterity  under  his  escort. 

I  told  him  of  the  paper  on  Emerson  which 
I  had  in  hand,  and  thanked  him,  as  well  as 
I  could,  in  a  few  words,  for  his  really  mar- 
vellous study  of  Emerson  in  the  series  of 
American  Authors.  I  said  I  really  wanted 


NOTE. — This  article  was  written  in  May,  1893.     Dr.  Holmes  died  October  7,  1894. — EDITOR. 


128 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


O.    W.    HOLMES'S    BIRTH-PLACE   AT   CAMBRIDGE,    MASSACHUSETTS,    ERECTED    IN    1725. 

From  a  photograph  by  Wilfrid  A.  French. 


to  bring  him  my  paper  to  read.  What  I 
was  trying  to  do,  was  to  show  that  the 
great  idealist  was  always  in  touch  with  his 
time,  and  eager  to  know  what,  at  the  mo- 
ment, were  the  real  facts  of  American  life. 
/.  I  remember  where  Emerson  stopped 
me  on  State  Street  once,  to  cross-question 


GARDEN  DOOR  OF  THE  CAMBRIDGE  HOUSE. 


me  about  some  details  of  Irish  emigra- 
tion. 

Holmes.  Yes,  he  was  eager  for  all  prac- 
tical information.  I  used  to  meet  him  very 
often  on  Saturday  evenings  at  the  Saturday 
Club  ;  and  I  can  see  him  now,  as  he  bent 
forward  eagerly  at  the  table,  if  any  one 
were  making  an  interesting  observation, 
with  his  face  like  a  hawk  as  he  took  in 
what  was  said.  You  felt  how  the  hawk 
would  be  flying  overhead  and  looking  down 
on  your  thought  at  the  next  minute.  I  re- 
member that  I  once  spoke  of  "  the  three 
great  prefaces,"  and  quick  as  light  Emer- 
son said,  "  What  are  the  three  great  pref- 
aces?" and  I  had  to  tell  him. 

/.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  what  they 
are.  What  are  they  ? 

Holmes.  They  are  Calvin's  to  his  "  Insti- 
tutes," Thuanus's  to  his  history,  and  Poly- 
bius's  to  his. 

/.  And  I  have  never  read  one  of  them  ! 

Holmes.  And  I  had  then  never  read  but 
one  of  them.  It  was  a  mere  piece  of  en- 
cyclopaedia learning  of  mine. 

/.  What  I  shall  try  to  do  in  my  address 
is  to  show  that  Emerson  would  not  have 
touched  all  sorts  of  people  as  he  did,  but 
for  this  matter-of-fact  interest  in  his  daily 
surroundings — if  he  had  not  gone  to  town- 
meetings,  for  instance.  Was  it  you  or  Lowell 
who  called  him  the  Yankee  Plato  ? 

Holmes.  Not  I.  It  was  probably  Lowell, 
in  the  "  Fable  for  Critics."  I  called  him 


AN  AFTERNOON   WITH  OLIVER    WENDELL  HOLMES. 


129 


"  a  winged  Franklin,"  and  I  stand  by  that. 
Matthew  Arnold  quoted  that  afterwards, 
and  I  was  glad  I  had  said  it. 

/.  I  do  not  remember  where  you  said  it. 
How  was  it  ? 

Dr.  Holmes  at  once  rose,  went  to  the 
turning  book-stand,  and  took  down  volume 
three  of  his  own  poems,  and  read  me  with 
great  spirit  the  passage.  I  do  not  know 
how  I  had  forgotten  it. 

"  Where  in  the  realm  of  thought,  whose  air  is  song. 
Does  he,  the  Buddha  of  the  West,  belong  ? 
He  seems  a  winged  Franklin,  sweetly  wise, 
Born  to  unlock  the  secrets  of  the  skies  ; 
And  which  the  nobler  calling, — if  'tis  fair 
Terrestrial  with  celestial  to  compare, — 
To  guide  the  storm-cloud's  elemental  flame, 
Or  walk  the  chambers  whence  the  lightning  came, 
Amidst  the  sources  of  its  subtile  fire, 
And  steal  their  effluence  for  his  lips  and  lyre  ?  " 

Here  he  said,  with  great  fun,  "-One  great 
good  of  writing  poetry  is  to  furnish  you 
with  your  own  quo- 
tations." And  after- 
wards, when  I  had 
made  him  read  to  me 
some  other  verses 
from  his  own  poems, 
he  said,  "  Oh,  yes,  as 
a  reservoir  of  the 
best  quotations  in 
the  language,  there 
is  nothing  like  a 
book  of  your  own 
poems." 

I  said  that  there 
was  no  greater  non- 
sense than  the  talk 
of ,  Emerson's  time, 
that  he  introduced 
German  philosophy 
here,  and  I  asked 
Holmes  if  he  thought 
that  Emerson  had 
borrowed  anything 
in  the  philosophical 
line  from  the  Ger- 
man. He  agreed  with 
me  that  his  philoso- 
phy was  thoroughly 


home-bred, 
wrought   out  in 
experience     of 
own  home-life. 


and 
the 
his 
He  said 


THE  HOUSE  IN  RUE  MONSIEUR  LE  PRINCE  WHERE  DR. 
HOLMES  LIVED  FOR  TWO  YEARS  WHEN  STUDYING 
MEDICINE  IN  PARIS. 


that  he  was  dis- 


posed to  believe  that  that  would  be  true 
of  Emerson  which  he  knew  was  true  of 
himself.  He  knew  Emerson  went  over  a 
great  many  books,  but  he  did  not  really 
believe  that  he  often  really  read  a  book 
through.  I  remember  one  of  his  phrases 
was,  that  he  thought  that  Emerson  "tasted 


books  ;  "  and  he  cited  a  bright  lady  from 
Philadelphia,  whom  he  had  met  the  day 
before,  who  had  said  that  she  thought  men 
of  genius  did  not  rely  much  upon  their 
reading,  and  had  complimented  him  by 
asking  if  he  did  so.  Holmes  said  : 

"I  told  her — I  had  to  tell  her — that  in 
reading  my  mind  is  always  active.  I  do 
not  follow  the  author  steadily  or  implicitly, 
but  my  thought  runs  off  to  right  and  left. 
It  runs  off  in  every  direction,  and  I  find  I 
am  not  so  much  taking  his  book  as  I  am 
thinking  my  own  thoughts  upon  his  sub- 
ject." 

/.  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  contrast 
between  Emerson  and  Carlyle :  "The 
hatred  of  unreality  was  uppermost  in  Car- 
lyle ;  the  love  of  what  is  real  and  genuine, 
with  Emerson."  Is  it  not  perhaps  possible 
that  Carlyle  would  not  have  been  Carlyle 
but  for  Emerson  ?  Emerson  found  him 
discouraged,  and  as  he  supposed  alone, 
and  at  the  very  be- 
ginning led  him  out 
of  his  darkest 
places.' 

I  think  it  was  on 
this  that  Dr.  Holmes 
spoke  with  a  good 
deal  of  feeling  about 
the  value  of  appreci- 
ation. He  was  ready 
to  go  back  to  tell  of 
the  pleasure  he  had 
received  from  per- 
sons who  had  written 
to  him,  even  though 
he  did  not  know 
them,  to  say  of  how 
much  use  some  par- 
ticular line  of  his 
had  been.  Among 
others  he  said  that 
Lothrop  Motley  had 
told  him  that,  when 
he  was  all  worn  out 
in  his  work  in  a  coun- 
try where  he  had  not 
many  friends,  and 
among  stupid  old 
manuscript  ar- 
chives, two  lines  of 
Holmes's  braced 
him  up  and  helped  him  through  : 

"  Stick  to  your  aim  :  the  mongrel's  hold  will  slip, 
But  only  crowbars  loose  the  bulldog's  grip." 

He  was  very  funny  about  flattery.  "  That 
is  the  trouble  of  having  so  many  friends, 
everybody  flatters  you.  I  do  not  mean  to 


130 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


let  them  hurt  me  if  I  can  help  it,  and  flat- 
tery is  not  necessarily  untrue.  But  you 
have  to  be  on  your  guard  when  every- 
body is  as  kind  to  you  as  everybody  is  to 
me" 

He  said,  in  passing,  * 

that  Emerson  once 
quoted  two  lines  of 
his,  and  quoted  them 
horribly.  They  are 
from  the  poem  called 
"The  Steamboat :  " 

"  The  beating  of  her  rest- 
less heart, 

Still  sounding  through 
the  storm." 


quoted 


her 


Emerson 
them  thus  : 


"The    pulses    of 

iron  heart 
Go  beating  through 
the  storm." 

I  was  curious 
to  know  about 
Dr.  Holmes's  ex- 
perienceof  coun- 
try life,  he  knows 
all  nature's  pro- 
cesses so  well. 
So  he  told  me 
how  it  happened 
that  he  went  to 
Pittsfield.  It 
seems  that,  a 
century  and  a 
half  ago,  his 
ancestor,  Jacob 

Wendell,  had  a  royal  grant  for  the  whole 
township  there,  with  some  small  exception, 
perhaps.  The  place  was  at  first  called 
Pontoosoc,  then  Wendelltown,  and  only 
afterward  got  the  name  of  Pittsfield  from 
William  Pitt.  One  part  of  the  Wendell 
property  descended  to  Dr.  Holmes's 
mother.  When  he  had  once  seen  it  he  was 
struck  with  its  beauty  and  fitness  for  a 
country  home,  and  asked  her  that  he  might 
have  it  for  his  own.  It  was  there  that  he 
built  a  house  in  which  he  lived  for  eight  or 
nine  years.  He  said  that  the  Housatonic 
winds  backwards  and  forwards  through 
it,  so  that  to  go  from  one  end  of  his 
estate  to  the  other  in  a  straight  line  re- 
quired the  crossing  it  seven  times.  Here 
his  children  grew  up,  and  he  and  they  were 
enlivened  anew  every  year  by  long  summer 
days  there. 

He  was  most  interesting  and  animated 
as  he  spoke  of  the  vigor  of  life  and  work 


O.    W.    HOl-MES'S    RESIDENCE    IN    BEACON    STREET,    BOSTON. 


and  poetical  composition  which  come  from 
being  in  the  open  air  and  living  in  the 
country.  He  wrote,  at  the  request  of  the 
neighborhood,  his  poem  of  "  The  Plough- 
man," to  be  read 
at  a  cattle-show 
in  Pittsfield. 
"And  when  I 
came  to  read  it 
afterwards  I 
said,  '  Here  it  is  ! 
Here  is  open  air 
life,  here  is  what 
breathing  the 
mountain  air  and 
living  in  the 
midst  of  nature 
does  for  a  man  ! ' 
And  I  want  to 
read  you  now  a 
piece  of  that 
poem,  because  it 
contained  a 
prophecy."  And 
while  he  was 
looking  for  the' 
verses,  he  said, 
in  the  vein  of  the 
Autocrat,  "  No- 
body knows  but 
a  man's  self  how 
many  good 
things  he  has 
done." 

So  we  found 
the  first  volume 
of  the  poems, 
and  there  is 
"The  Plough- 
man," written,  observe,  as  early  as  1849. 

"  O  gracious  Mother,  whose  benignant  breast 
Wakes  us  to  life,  and  lulls  us  all  to  rest, 
How  thy  sweet  features,  kind  to  every  clime, 
Mock    with    their    smile    the    wrinkled    front   of 

time  ! 

We  stain  thy  flowers, — they  blossom  o'er  the  dead  ; 
We  rend  thy  bosom,  and  it  gives  us  bread  ; 
O'er  the  red  field  that  trampling  strife  has  torn, 
Waves  the  green  plumage  of  thy  tasselled  corn  ; 
Our  maddening  conflicts  sear  thy  fairest  plain, 
Still  thy  soft  answer  is  the  growing  grain. 
Yet,  O  our  Mother,  while  uncounted  charms 
Steal  round  our  hearts  in  thine  embracing  arms, 
Let  not  our  virtues  in  thy  love  decay, 
And  thy  fond  sweetness  waste  our  strength  away. 

No  !  by  these  hills,  whose  banners  now  displayed 
In  blazing  cohorts  Autumn  has  arrayed  ; 
By  yon  twin  summits,  on  whose  splintery  crests 
The  tossing  hemlocks  hold  the  eagles'  nests  ; 
By  these  fair  plains  the  mountain  circle  screens, 
And  feeds  with  streamlets  from  its  dark  ravines, — 
True  to  their  home,  these  faithful  arms  shall  toil 
To  crown  with  peace  their  own  untainted  soil ; 


AN  AFTERNOON    WITH  OLIVER    WENDELL  HOLMES. 


THE    BAY   WINDOW    IN    DR.    HOLMES  S   STUDY. 


And,  true  to  God,  to  freedom,  to  mankind, 
If  her  chained  bandogs  Faction  shall  unbind, 
These  stately  forms,  that  bending  even  now 
Bowed    their    strong    manhood    to    the     humble 

plough, 

Shall  rise  erect,  the  guardians  of  the  land, 
The  same  stern  iron  in  the  same  right  hand, 
Till  o'er  the  hills  the  shouts  of  triumph  run, 
The   sword    has    rescued    what    the    ploughshare 


Now  in  1849,  I,  who  remember,  can  tell 
you,  every-day  people  did  not  much  think 
that  Faction  was  going  to  unbind  her 
bandogs  and  set  the  country  at  war  ;  and 
it  was  only  a  prophet-poet  who  saw  that 
there  was  a  chance  that  men  might  forge 
their  ploughshares  into  swords  again.  But 
you  see  from  the  poem  that  Holmes  was 
such  a  prophet-poet,  and  now,  forty-four 
years  after,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  hear  him 
read  these  lines. 

I  asked  him  of  his  reminiscences  of 
Emerson's  famous  Phi  Beta  Kappa  oration 
at  Cambridge,  which  he  has  described,  as 
so  many  others  have,  as  the  era  of  inde- 
pendence in  American  literature.  We  both 
talked  of  the  day,  which  we  remembered, 
and  of  the  Phi  Beta  dinner  which  followed 
it,  when  Mr.  Everett  presided,  and  bore 
touching  tribute  to  Charles  Emerson,  who 
had  just  died.  Holmes  said  :  "  You  can- 
not make  the  people  of  this  generation 
understand  the  effect  of  Everett's  oratory. 
I  have  never  felt  the  fascination  of  speech 
as  I  did  in  hearing  him.  Did  it  ever  oc- 
cur to  you, — did  I  say  to  you  the  other  day, 


— that  when  a  man  has  such  a  voice  as  he 
had,  our  slight  nasal  resonance  is  an  ad- 
vantage and  not  a  disadvantage  ?  " 

I  was  fresher  than  he  from  his  own  book 
on  Emerson,  and  remembered  that  he  had 
said  there  somewhat  the  same  thing.  His 


A   CORNER    IN    DR.    HOLMES  S   STUDY. 


132 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


words  are  :  "  It  is  with  delight  that  one 
who  remembers  Everett  in  his  robes  of 
rhetorical  splendor  ;  who  recalls  his  full- 
blown, high-colored,  double-flowered  peri- 
ods ;  the  rich,  resonant,  grave,  far-reaching 
music  of  his  speech,  with  just  enough  of 
nasal  vibration  to  give  the  vocal  sounding- 
board  its  proper  value  in  the  harmonies  of 
utterance, — it  is  with  delight  that  such  a 
one  recalls  the  glowing  words  of  Emerson 
whenever  he  refers  to  Edward  Everett.  It 
is  enough  if  he  himself  caught  enthusiasm 
from  those  eloquent  lips.  But  many  a 
listener  has  had  his  youthful  enthusiasm 
fired  by  that  great  master  of  academic 
oratory."  I  knew,  when  I  read  this,  that 
Holmes  referred  to  himself  as  the  "youth- 
ful listener,"  and  was  glad  that  within 
twenty-four  hours  he  should  say  so  to  me. 

So  we  fell  to  talking  of  his  own  Phi 
Beta  poem.  A  good  Phi  Beta  poem  is 
an  impossibility  ;  but  it  is  the  business  of 
genius  to  work  the  miracles,  and  Holmes's 
is  one  of  the  few  successful  Phi  Beta 
poems  in  the  dreary  catalogue  of  more 
than  a  century.  The  custom  of  having 
"the  poem,"  as  people  used  to  say,  as  if 
it  were  always  the  same,  is  now  almost 
abandoned. 

Fortunately  for  us  both,  a  tap  was 
heard  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  John  Holmes 


appeared,  his  brother.  Mr.  John  Holmes 
has  not  chosen  to  publish  the  bright  things- 
which  he  has  undoubtedly  written,  but  in  all 
circles  where  he  favors  people  with  his  pres- 
ence he  is  known  as  one  of  the  most  agree- 
able of  men.  Everybody  is  glad  to  set  him 
on  the  lines  of  reminiscences.  The  two- 
brothers,  with  great  good  humor,  began  tell- 
ing of  a  dinner  party  which  Dr.  Holmes  had 
given  within  a  few  days  to  a  number  of 
gentlemen  whose  average  ages,  according 
to  them,  exceeded  eighty.  One  has  to  make 
allowance  for  the  exaggeration  of  their 
fun,  but  I  think,  from  the  facts  which  they 
dropped,  that  the  average  must  have  been 
maintained.  One  would  have  given  a  good 
deal  to  be  old  enough  to  be  permitted  to 
be  at  that  dinner.  This  led  to  talk  of  the 
Harvard  class  of  1829,  for  whose  meetings 
Holmes  has  written  so  many  of  his  charm- 
ing poems.  He  said  that  they  are  now  to 
have  a  dinner  within  a  few  days,  and 
named  the  gentlemen  who  were  to  be 
there.  Among  them,  of  course,  is  Dr. 
Samuel  F.  Smith,  the  author  of  "  America." 
I  noticed  that  Dr.  Holmes  always  called 
him  "  My  country  'tis  of  thee,"  and  so  did 
all  of  us.  And  then  these  two  critics  be- 
gan analyzing  that  magnificent  song.  "It 
will  not  do  to  laugh  at  it.  People  show 
that  they  do  not  know  what  they  are  talk- 


DOROTHY   Q'S    HOUSE    IN    QUINCY,    MASSACHUSETTS.* 

*  Also  called  the  Peter  Butler  house.     Sewall  in  his  diary  speaks  of  it  as  Mr.  Quincy's  new  house  (1680-85).    There 
Dorothy  was  born  and  married. 


AN  AFTERNOON   WITH  OLIVER    WENDELL  HOLMES. 


133 


DR.    O.    W.    HOLMES    DELIVERING    HIS    FAREWELL   ADDRESS   AS    PARKMAN    PROFESSOR   OF   ANATOMY    IN   THE    MEDICAL   SCHOOL  OF 

HARVARD    UNIVERSITY,    NOVEMBER   28,    1882. 

From  a  proof  print  in  the  possession  of  Dr.  James  R.  Chadwick. 


ing  about  when  they  speak  lightly  of  it. 
Did  you  ever  think  how  much  is  gained  by 
making  the  first  verse  begin  with  the  .sin- 
gular number?  Not  our  country,  but  'My 
country/  '  /  sing  of  thee  '  ?  There  is  not 
an  American  citizen  but  can  make  it  his 
own,  and  does  make  it  his  own,  as  he 
sings  it.  And  it  rises  to  a  Psalm-like 
grandeur  at  the  end.  It  is  a  magnificent 
hold  to  have  upon  fame  to  have  sixty 
million  people  sing  the  verses  that  you 
have  written."  John  Holmes  said  :  "  How 
good  '  templed  hills '  is,  and  that  is  not 
alone  in  the  poem."  Both  John  Holmes 
and  I  pleaded  to  be  permitted  to  come  to 
the  class  dinner,  but  Dr.  Holmes  was  very 
funny.  He  pooh-poohed  us  both  ;  we  were 
only  children,  and  we  were  not  to  be  pres- 
ent at  so  rare  a  solemnity.  For  me,  I 
already  felt  that  I  had  been  wicked  in 
wasting  so  much  of  his  time.  But  he  has 
the  gift  of  making  you  think  that  you  are 
the  only  person  in  the  world,  and  that  he 
is  only  living  for  your  pleasure.  Still  I 
knew,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  this  was 


not   so,  and   very  unwillingly  I  took   my- 
self away.  

.As  I  walked  home  I  meditated  on  the 
fate  of  a  first-rate  book  in  our  time. 
Holmes  had  expressed  unaffected  surprise 
that  I  spoke  with  the  gratitude  which  I 
felt  about  his  "Life  of  Emerson."  The 
book  must  have  cost  him  the  hard  work  of 
a  year.  It  is  as  remarkable  a  study  as 
one  poet  ever  made  of  another.  Yet  I 
think  he  said  to  me  that  no  one  had  seemed 
to  understand  the  care  and  effort  which  he 
had  given  to  it. 

Here  is  the  position  in  the  United  States 
now  about  the  criticism  of  such  work.  At 
about  the  time  that  the  "  North  American 
Review "  ceased  to  review  books,  there 
came,  as  if  by  general  consent,  an  end  to 
all  elaborate  criticism  of  new  books  here. 

I  think  myself  that  this  is  a  thing  very 
much  to  be  regretted.  In  old  times,  who- 
ever wrote  a  good  book  was  tolerably  sure 
that  at  least  one  competent  person  would 
study  it  and  write  down  what  he  thought 


134 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


O.    W.    HOLMES   AND    E.    E.    HALE. 

From  a  photograph  taken  in  Dr.  Holmes's  study,  May  22,  1893. 


about  it  ;  and,  from  at  least  one  point  of 
view,  an  author  had  a  prospect  of  knowing 
how  his  book  struck  other  people.  Now 
we  have  nothing  but  the  hasty  sketches, 
sometimes  very  good,  which  are  written 
for  the  daily  or  weekly  press. 

So  it  happens  that  I,  for  one,  have  never 
seen  any  fit  recognition  of  the  gift  which 
Dr.  Holmes  made  to  our  time  and  to  the 
next  generation  when  he  made  his  study 
of  Emerson's  life  for  the  "  American  Men 
of  Letters  "  series.  Apparently  he  had  not. 
Just  think  of  it  !  Here  is  a  poet,  the  head 
of  our  "  Academy,"  so  far  as  there  is  any 
such  Academy,  who  is  willing  to  devote  a 
year  of  his  life  to  telling  you  and  me  what 
Emerson  was,  from  his  own  personal  recol- 
lections of  a  near  friend,  whom  he  met  as 
often  as  once  a  week,  and  talked  with  per- 
haps for  hours  at  a  time,  and  with  whom 
lie  talked  on  literary  and  philosophical 
subjects.  More  than  this,  this  poet  has 
been  willing  to  go  through  Emerson's 
books  again,  to  re-read  them  as  he  had 
originally  read  them  when  they  came  out, 
and  to  make  for  you  and  me  a  careful 
analysis  of  all  these  books.  He  is  one  of 


five  people  in  the  country  who  are  com- 
petent to  tell  what  effect  these  books  pro- 
duced on  the  country  as  they  appeared 
from  time  to  time.  And,  being  competent, 
he  takes  the  time  to  tell  us  this  thing. 
That  is  a  sort  of  good  fortune  which,  so 
far  as  I  remember,  has  happened  to  nobody 
excepting  Emerson.  When  John  Milton 
died,  there  was  nobody  left  who  could 
have  done  such  a  thing  ;  certainly  nobody 
did  do  it,  or  tried  to  do  it.  I  must  say,  I 
think  it  is  rather  hard  that,  when  such  a 
gift  as  that  has  been  given  to  the  people 
of  any  country,  that  people,  while  boasting 
of  its  seventy  millions  of  numbers  and  its 
thousands  of  billions  of  acres,  should  not 
have  one  critical  journal  of  which  it  is  the 
business  to  say  at  length,  and  in  detail, 
whether  Dr.  Holmes  has  done  his  duty 
well  by  the  prophet,  or  whether,  indeed, 
he  has  done  it  at  all. 

When  we  left  Dr.  Holmes,  he  and  his 
household  were  looking  forward  to  the  an- 
nual escape  to  Beverly.  Somebody  once 
wrote  him  a  letter  dated  from"Manchester- 
by-the-Sea,"  and  Holmes  wrote  his  reply 
under  the  date  "  Beverly-by-the-Depot." 


AN   AFTERNOON  WITH  OLIVER    WENDELL  HOLMES. 


'35 


And  here  let  me  stop  to  tell  one  of  those 
jokes  for  which  the  English  language  and 
Dr.  Holmes  were  made.  A  few  years  ago, 
in  a  fit  of  economy,  our  famous  Mas- 
sachusetts Historical  Society  screwed  up 
its  library  and  other  offices  by  some  fifteen 
feet,  built  in  the  space  underneath,  and 
rented  it  to  the  city  of  Boston.  This  was 
all  very  well  for  the  treasurer ;  but  for 
those  of  us  who  had  passed  sixty  years, 
and  had  to  climb  up  some  twenty  more 
iron  stairs  whenever  we  wanted  to  look  at 
an  old  pamphlet  in  the  library,  it  was  not 
so  great  a  benefaction.  When  Holmes 
went  up,  for  the  first  time,  to  see  the  new 
quarters  of  the  Society,  he  left  his  card 
with  the  words,  "  O.  W.  Holmes.  High- 
story-call  Society."  We  understood  then 
why  the  councils  of  the  Society  had  been 
over-ruled  by  the  powers  which  manage  this 
world,  to  take  this  flight  towards  heaven. 

I  ought  to  have  given  a  hint  above  of 
his  connection  and  mine  with  the  society 
of  "  People  who  Think  we  are  Going  to 
Know  More  about  Some  Things  By  and 
By."  This  society  was  really  formed  by 
my  mother,  who  for  some  time,  I  think, 
was  the  only  member.  But  one  day  Dr. 
Holmes  and  I  met  in  the  "Old  Corner 
Bookstore,"  when  the  "  corner  "  had  been 
moved  to  the  corner  of  Hamilton  Place, 
and  he  was  telling  me  one  of  the  extraor- 
dinary coincidences  which  he  collects  with 
such  zeal.  I  ventured  to  trump  his  story 
with  another  ;  and,  in  the  language  of  the 
ungodly,  I  thought  1  went  one  better  than 
he.  This  led  to  a  talk  about  coincidences, 
and  I  said  that  my  mother  had  long  since 


said  that  she  meant  to  have  a  society  of 
the  people  who  believed  that  some  time 
we  should  know  more  about  such  curious 
coincidences.  Dr.  Holmes  was  delighted 
with  the  idea,  and  we  "organized"  the  so- 
ciety then  and  there ;  he  was  to  be  presi- 
dent, I  was  to  be  secretary,  and  my  mother 
was  to  be  treasurer.  There  were  to  be  no 
other  members,  no  entrance  fees,  no  con- 
stitution, and  no  assessments.  We  seldom 
meet  now  that  we  do  not  authorize  a  meet- 
ing of  this  society  and  challenge  each 
other  to  produce  the  remarkable  coinci- 
dences which  have  passed  since  we  met 
before. 

There  is  an  awful  story  of  his  about  the 
last  time  a  glove  was  thrown  down  in  an 
English  court-room.  It  is  a  story  in  which 
Holmes  is  all  mixed  up  with  a  marvellous 
series  of  impossibilities,  such  as  would 
make  Mr.  Clemens's  hair  grow  gray,  and 
add  a  new  chapter  to  his  studies  of  telep- 
athy. I  will  not  enter  on  it  now,  with  the 
detail  of  the  book  that  fell  from  the  ninth 
shelf  of  a  book-case,  and  opened  at  the 
exact  passage  where  the  challenge  story 
was  to  be  described. 

As  for  the  story  of  his  hearing  Dr. 
Phinney  at  Rome,  and  the  other  story  of 
Mr.  Emerson's  hearing  Dr.  Phinney  at 
Rome,  I  never  tell  that  excepting  to  confi- 
dential friends  who  know  that  I  cannot 
tell  a  lie.  For  if  I  tell  it  to  any  one  else, 
he  looks  at  me  with  a  quizzical  air,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  This  is  as  bad  as  the 
story  of  the  '  Man  Without  a  Country  ; ' 
and  I  do  not  know  how  much  to  believe, 
and  how  much  to  disbelieve." 


O.    W.    HOLMES'S   SUMMER    RESIDENCE    AT    BEVERLY    FARMS. 


PORTRAITS   OF    OLIVER   WENDELL    HOLMES. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  was 
the  son  of  a  clergyman,  eminent  in 
his  day,  and  the  author  of  a  book  well 
known  to  students  of  American  history, 
"Annals  of  America."  He  was  born  in 
Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  August  29, 1809, 
the  third  in  a  family  of  five  children.  He 
prepared  for  college  at  Phillips  Andover 
Academy,  and  graduated  from  Harvard  in 
1829.  He  then  began  the  study  of  the 
law,  but  later  turned  to  medicine,  and 
passed  three  years  in  study  in  Europe — 
chiefly  in  Paris.  He  received  his  degree 
in  1836.  In  1839  he  became  professor  of 
anatomy  and  physiology  at  Dartmouth 
College.  He  resigned  the  position  after 
a  year  or  two,  and  took  up  the  practice  of 
his  profession  in  Boston.  In  1847  ne  be- 
came professor  of  anatomy  and  physiology 
at  Harvard  ;  and  in  this  office  he  served 
continuously  until  near  the  close  of  1882, 
when  he-  discontinued  his  lectures  and  in- 
structions on  account  of  his  age.  Thence- 
forward until  his  death,  October  7,  1894,  he 
led  a  life  of  comparative  leisure  and  re- 
tirement. 

Such  in  outline  was  Dr.  Holmes's  career. 
The  literary  employments  which  are  the 
source  of  his  fame  were  in  the  main  diver- 
sions. The  business  of  his  life  was  the 
teaching  and  practice  of  medicine.  Yet  he 
began  to  write  as  a  school-boy,  and  con- 
tinued with  unabated  vigor  almost  to  the 
very  last  of  his  days.  As  a  student  at 
Harvard  he  contributed  to  the  college  peri- 
odicals, and  delivered  a  poem  at  commence- 
ment ;  and  the  year  after  his  graduation, 
when  he  was  but  twenty-one  years  old,  he 
wrote  the  famous  poem  "  Old  Ironsides," 
which  helped  to  save  the  frigate  "  Consti- 
tution "  from  irreverent  destruction.  One 
of  six  frigates  which  Congress  had  ordered 
constructed  in  1794,  the  "Constitution" 
had  played  a  brilliant  part,  as  Commodore 
Preble's  flagship,  in  the  war  against  Trip- 
oli, between  1801  and  1805.  Then,  under 
Captain  Isaac  Hull,  she  had  fought  the 
first  naval  battle  of  the  war  of  1812,  cap- 
turing the  British  frigate  "  Guerriere,"  and 
had  followed  this  with  other  notable  vic- 
tories over  the  British.  So  when,  in  1830, 
it  was  thiftily  proposed  to  break  her  up, 
because  no  longer  fit  for  service,  Holmes, 
to  adopt  his  own  phrase  on  the  matter, 
"  mocked  the  spoilers  with  his  school-boy 
scorn."  Not  alone  as  a  school-boy,  though, 


was  he  outspoken  against  the  spoilers.  His 
muse  never  grew  too  mature  or  dignified  to 
speak  a  warm,  strong  word  for  any  good 
human  cause. 

Holmes's  great  literary  opportunity  and 
inspiration  came  in  1857,  when  the  "  Atlan- 
tic Monthly  "  was  founded.  He  provided 
the  name  for  the  new  magazine,  shared  in 
the  preliminary  conferences,  and  by  his 
contributions  did  more  than  any  one  else 
to  secure  it  immediate  popularity.  Lowell 
accepted  the  editorship — with  some  mis- 
givings, as  it  should  seem,  for  he  said,  "  I 
will  take  the  place,  as  you  all  seem  to  think 
I  should  ;  but,  if  success  is  achieved,  we 
shall  owe  it  mainly  to  the  doctor  "  (mean- 
ing Holmes). 

The  opulent  fulfilment  of  this  expecta- 
tion was  "  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast- 
Table."  In  beginning  his  famous  talks, 
the  ''Autocrat,"  it  will  be  remembered,  re- 
marks :  "  1  was  just  going  to  say,  when  I 
was  interrupted  ;"  and  in  "  The  Autocrat's 
autobiography,"  which  prefaces  the  volume, 
it  is  explained  that  the  interruption  referred 
to  was  "just  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  dura- 
tion." Two  articles  entitled  "  The  Auto- 
crat of  the  Breakfast-Table  "  had  been  pub- 
lished, one  in  November,  1831,  and  one  in 
February,  1832,  in  the  "  New  England 
Magazine  "  of  that  day  ;  and  twenty-five 
years  later,  when  asked  to  contribute  to  the 
"Atlantic,"  "the  recollection,"  Dr.  Holmes 
says,  "  of  these  crude  products  of  his  un- 
combed literary  boyhood  suggested  the 
thought  that  it  would  be  a  curious  experi- 
ment to  shake  the  same  bough  again,  and 
see  if  the  ripe  fruit  were  better  or  worse 
than  the  early  windfalls." 

The  experiment  proved  so  acceptable 
that  Dr.  Holmes  recurred  to  the  "Auto- 
cratic "  form  again  and  again.  "  The 
Professor  at  the  Breakfast-Table  "  followed 
the  "  Autocrat  ;  "  then,  though  many  years 
later,  "  The  Poet  at  the  Breakfast-Table  ;  " 
and  finally,  three  years  before  the  author's 
death,  came  to  complete  the  series,  "  Over 
the  Teacups."  But  in  addition  to  these 
Dr.  Holmes  produced  several  books  of 
poems,  three  novels  ("Elsie  Venner,"  1861  ; 
"The  Guardian  Angel,"  1868;  and  "A 
Mortal  Antipathy,"  1885),  several  biogra- 
phies, and  numerous  medical  works  and 
papers — a  large  list  for  a  man  with  whom 
writing  was  never  the  main  business  of  his 
life. 


PORTRAITS  OF  OLIVER    WENDELL  HOLMES. 


»37 


ALL   FROM    DAGUERREOTYPES— THE   TWO    LAST   ONES,    BETWEEN    1845   AND    1855.      THB    FIRST  IS  THE   EARLIEST   PICTURE 
OF   DOCTOR    HOLMES,    AND    HE    IS    UNABLE   TO   PLACE   A   DATE   UPON   IT. 


'38 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MARCH,  1869.       AGE   60. 


AUGUST,    1874.       AGE   65. 


ABOUT    1882.      AGE    73. 


NOVEMBER,    18QI.       AGE   82. 


PORTRAITS  OF  OLIVER    WENDELL  HOLMES.  139 


HOWELLS    AND    BOYESEN. 

A   CONVERSATION   BETWEEN   W.   D.    HOWELLS   AND    PROFESSOR    H.    H.   BOYESEN. 

RECORDED  BY  PROFESSOR  BOYESEN. 


WHEN  I  was  requested  to  furnish  a 
dramatic  biography  of  Mr.  How- 
ells,  I  was  confronted  with  what  seemed 
an  insuperable  difficulty.  The  more  I 
thought  of  William  Dean  Howells,  the 
less  dramatic  did  he  seem  to  me.  The 
only  way  that  occurred  to  me  of  introduc- 
ing a  dramatic  element  into  our  proposed 
interview  was  for  me  to  assault  him  with 
tongue  or  pen,  in  the  hope  that  he  might 
take  energetic  measures  to  resent  my  in- 
trusion ;  but  as,  notwithstanding  his  unva- 
rying kindness  to  me,  and  many  unforgot- 
ten  benefits,  I  cherished  only  the  friendliest 
feelings  for  him,  I  could  not  persuade  my- 
self to  procure  dramatic  interest  at  such  a 
price. 

My  second  objection,  I  am  bound  to  con- 
fess, arose  from  my  own  sense  of  dignity, 
which  rebelled  against  the  rdle  of  an  inter- 
viewer, and  it  was  not  until  my  conscience 
was  made  easy  on  this  point  that  I  agreed 
to  undertake  the  present  article.  I  was 


reminded  that  it  was  an  ancient  and  highly 
dignified  form  of  literature  I  was  about  to 
revive  ;  and  that  my  precedent  was  to  be 
sought  not  in  the  modern  newspaper  inter- 
view, but  in  the  Platonic  dialogue.  By  the 
friction  of  two  kindred  minds,  sparks  of 
thought  may  flash  forth  which  owe  their 
origin  solely  to  the  friendly  collision.  We 
have  a  far  more  vivid  portrait  of  Socrates 
in  the  beautiful  conversational  turns  of 
"  The  Symposium  "  and  fie  first  book  of 
"  The  Republic "  than  in  the  purely  ob- 
jective account  of  Xenophon  in  his  "  Me- 
morabilia." And  Howells,  though  he  may 
not  know  it,  has  this  trait  in  common  with 
Socrates,  that  he  can  portray  himself,  un- 
consciously, better  than  I  or  anybody  else 
could  do  it  for  him. 

If  I  needed  any  further  encouragement, 
I  found  it  in  the  assurance  that  what  I  was 
expected  to  furnish  was  to  be  in  the  nature 
of  "an  exchange  of  confidences  between 
two  friends  with  a  view  to  publication."  It 


HO  WELLS  AND  BOYESEN. 


141 


was  understood,  of  course,  that  Mr.  How- 
ells  was  to  be  more  confiding  than  myself, 
and  that  his  reminiscences  were  to  pre- 
dominate ;  for  an  author,  however  unhe- 
loic  he  may  appear  to  his  own  modesty, 
is  bound  to  be  the  hero  of  his  biography. 
What  made  the  subject  so  alluring  to  me, 
apart  from  the  personal  charm  which  in- 
heres in  the  man  and  all  that  appertains 
to  him,  was  the  consciousness  that  our 
friendship  was  of  twenty-two  years'  stand- 
ing, and  that  during  all  that  time  not  a 
single  jarring  note  had  been  introduced  to 
mar  the  harmony  of  our  relation. 

Equipped,  accordingly,  with  a  good  con- 
science and  a  lead  pencil  (which  remained 
undisturbed  in  my  breast-pocket),  I  set  out 
to  "exchange  confidences"  with  the  author 
of  "Silas  Lapham  "  and  "A  Modern  In- 
stance." I  reached  the  enormous  human 
hive  on  Fifty-ninth  Street  where  my  sub- 
ject, for  the  present,  occupies  a  dozen  most 
comfortable  and  ornamental  cells,  and 
was  promptly  hoisted  up  to  the  fourth  floor 


know.  I  am  aware,  for  instance,  that  you 
were  born  at  Martin's  Ferry,  Ohio,  March 
n,  1837  ;  that  you  removed  thence  to  Day- 
ton, and  a  few  years  later  to  Jefferson, 
Ashtabula  County  ;  that  your  father  edited, 
published,  and  printed  a  country  newspa- 
per of  Republican  complexion,  and  that 
you  spent  a  good  part  of  your  early  years 
in  the  printing  office.  Nevertheless,  I  have 
some  difficulty  in  realizing  the  environ- 
ment of  your  boyhood." 

Howells.  If  you  have  read  my  "  Boy's 
Town,"  which  is  in  all  essentials  autobio- 
graphical, you  know  as  much  as  I  could 
tell  you.  The  environment  of  my  early 
life  was  exactly  as  there  described. 

Boyesen.  Your  father,  I  should  judge, 
then,  was  not  a  strict  disciplinarian  ? 

Howells.  No.  He  was  the  gentlest  of 
men — a  friend  and  companion  to  his  sons. 
He  guided  us  in  an  unobtrusive  way  with- 
out our  suspecting  it.  He  was  continually 
putting  books  into  my  hands,  and -they 
were  always  good  books  ;  many  of  them 


PROFESSOR    BOYESEN    IN    HIS   STUDY   AT   COLUMBIA 
COLLEGE. 

and  deposited  in  front  of  his  door.  It  is  a 
house  full  of  electric  wires  and  tubes — 
literally  honeycombed  with  modern  con- 
veniences. But  in  spite  of  all  these,  I  made 
my  way  triumphantly  to  Mr.  Howells's 
den,  and  after  a  proper  prelude  began  the 
novel  task  assigned  to  me. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  I  remarked  quite  en  pas- 
sant, "  that  I  shall  be  embarrassed  not  by 
my  ignorance,  but  by  my  knowledge  con- 
cerning your  life.  For  it  is  difficult  to  ask 
with  good  grace  about  what  you  already 


became  events  in  my  life.  I  had  no  end  of 
such  literary  passions  during  my  boyhood. 
Among  the  first  was  Goldsmith,  then 
came  Cervantes  and  Irving. 

Boyesen.  Then  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  literary  atmosphere  about  your  child- 
hood ? 

Howells.     Yes.     I  can  scarcely  remem- 


142 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


her  the  time  when  books  did  not  play  a 
great  part  in  my  life.  Father  was,  by  his 
culture  and  his  interests,  rather  isolated 
from  the  community  in  which  we  lived, 
and  this  made  him  and  all  of  us  rejoice 
the  more  in  a  new  author,  in  whose  world 
we  would  live  for  weeks  and  months,  and 
who  colored  our  thoughts  and  conversa- 
tion. 

Boyesen.  It  has  always  been  a  matter 
of  wonder  to  me  that,  with  so  little  regular 
schooling,  you  stepped  full-fledged  into 
literature  with  such  an  exquisite  and 
wholly  individual  style. 

Howells.  If  you  accuse  me  of  that  kind 
of  thing,  I  must  leave  you  to  account  for 
it.  I  had  always  a  passion  for  literature, 
and  to  a  boy  with  a  mind  and  a  desire  to 
learn,  a  printing  office  is  not  a  bad  school. 

Boyesen.  How  old  were  you  when  you 
left  Jefferson  and  went  to  Columbus? 

Howells.  I  was  nineteen  years  old  when 
I  went  to  the  capital  and  wrote  legislative 
reports  for  Cincinnati  and  Cleveland 
papers  ;  afterwards  I  became  one  of  the 
editors  of  the  "  Ohio  State  Journal."  My 
duties  gradually  took  a  wide  range,  and  I 
edited  the  literary  column  and  wrote  many 
of  the  leading  articles.  I  was 
then  in  the  midst  of  my  enthusiasm 
for  Heine,  and  was  so  impregnated 
with  his  spirit  that  a  poem  which 
I  sent  to  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly  " 
was  mistaken  by  Mr.  Lowell  for  a 
translation  from  the  German  poet. 
When  he  had  satisfied  himself, 
however,  that  it  was  not  a  transla- 
tion, he  accepted  and  printed  it. 

Boyesen.  Tell  me  how  you  hap- 
pened to  publish  your  first  volume, 
"  Poems  by  Two  Friends,"  in  part- 
nership with  John  J.  Piatt. 

Howells.  I  had  known  Piatt  as  a 
young  printer  ;  afterwards  when  he 
began  to  write  poems,  I  read  them 
and  was  delighted  with  them. 
When  he  came  to  Columbus  I  made 
his  acquaintance,  and  we  became 
friends.  By  this  time  we  were  both 
contributors  to  the  "  Atlantic 
Monthly."  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
that  his  contributions  to  our  joint 
volume  were  far  superior  to  mine. 

Boyesen.  Did  Lowell  share  that 
opinion  ? 

Howells.  That  I  don't  know.  He 
wrote  me  a  very  charming  letter, 
in  which  he  said  many  encouraging 
things,  and  he  briefly  reviewed  the 
book  in  the  "Atlantic." 

Boyesen.    What    was  the   condi- 


tion of  society  in  Columbus  during  those 
days  ? 

Howells.  There  were  many  delightful 
and  cultivated  people  there,  and  society 
was  charming  ;  the  North  and  South  were 
both  represented,  and  their  characteristics 
united  in  a  kind  of  informal  Western  hos- 
pitality, warm  and  cordial  in  its  tone,  which 
gave  of  its  very  best  without  stint.  Sal- 
mon P.  Chase,  later  Secretary  of  the  Treas- 
ury, and  Chief  Justice  of  the  United 
States,  was  then  Governor  of  Ohio.  He 
had  a  charming  family,  and  made  us  young 
editors  welcome  at  his  house.  All  winter 
long  there  was  a  round  of  parties  at  the 
different  houses;  the  houses  were  large 
and  we  always  danced.  These  parties 
were  brilliant  affairs,  socially,  but  besides, 
we  young  people  had  many  informal 
gayeties.  The  Old  Starling  Medical  Col- 
lege, which  was  defunct  as  an  educational 
institution,  except  for  some  vivisection 
and  experiments  on  hapless  cats  and  dogs 
that  went  on  in  some  out-of-the-way  cor- 
ners, was  used  as  a  boarding-house  ;  and 
there  was  a  large  circular  room  in  which 
we  often  improvised  dances.  We  young 
fellows  who  lodged  in  the  place  were  half 


MR.    HOWELI.S   AT  THE   TIME   OF   WRITING    "ANNIE    KILBURN,"    1887. 


HOW  ELLS  AND  BOYESEN. 


a  dozen  journalists,  lawyers,  and 
law  students ;  one  was,  like  my- 
self, a  writer  for  the  "  Atlantic," 
and  we  saw  life  with  joyous  eyes. 
We  read  the  new  books,  and  talked 
them  over  with  the  young  ladies 
whom  we  seem  to  have  been  al- 
ways calling  upon.  I  remember 
those  years  in  Columbus  as  among 
the  happiest  years  of  my  life. 

Boyesen.  From  Columbus  you 
went  as  consul  to  Venice,  did  not 
you  ? 

Howells.  Yes.  You  remember 
I  had  written  a  campaign  "  Life 
of  Lincoln."  I  was,  like  my  father, 
an  ardent  anti-slavery  man.  I 
went  myself  to  Washington  soon  after  Pres- 
ident Lincoln's  inauguration.  I  was  first 
offered  the  consulate  to  Rome  ;  but  as  it 
depended  entirely  upon  perquisites,  which 
amounted  only  to  three  or  four  hundred 
dollars  a  year,  I  declined  it,  and  they  gave 
me  Venice.  The  salary  was  raised  to  fif- 
teen hundred  dollars,  which  seemed  to  me 
quite  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice. 

Boyesen.  Do  not  you  regard  that 
Venetian  experience  as  a  very  valuable 
one? 

Howells.  Oh,  of  course.  In  the  first 
place,  it  gave  me  four  years  of  almost  un- 
interrupted leisure  for  study  and  literary 
work.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  occasionally 
an  invoice  to  be  verified,  but  that  did  not 
take  much  time.  Secondly,  it  gave  me  a 
wider  outlook  upon  the  world  than  I  had 
hitherto  had.  Without  much  study  of  a 
systematic  kind,  I  had  acquired  a  notion 
of  English,  French,  German,  and  Spanish 
literature.  I  had  been  an  eager  and  con- 
stant reader,  always  guided  in  my  choice 
of  books  by  my  own  inclination.  I  had 
learned  German.  Now,  my  first  task  was 
to  learn  Italian  ;  and  one  of  my  early 
teachers  was  a  Venetian  priest,  whom  I 
read  Dante  with.  This  priest  in  certain 
ways  suggested  Don  Ippolito  in  "  A  Fore- 
gone Conclusion." 

Boyesen.  Then  he  took  snuff,  and  had 
a  supernumerary  calico  handkerchief  ? 

Hoivells.  Yes.  But  what  interested  me 
most  about  him  was  his  religious  skepti- 
cism. He  used  to  say,  "  The  saints  are  the 
gods  baptized."  Then  he  was  a  kind  of 
baffled  inventor  ;  though  whether  his  in- 
ventions had  the  least  merit  I  was  unable 
to  determine. 

Boyesen.     But  his  love  story  ? 

Howells.     That  was  wholly  fictitious. 

Boyesen.  I  remember  you  gave  me,  in 
1874,  a  letter  of  introduction  to  a  Venetian 


THE    BIRTHPLACE   OF  W.    D.    HOWELLS   AT   MARTIN'S    FERRY, 
OHIO. 

friend  of  yours,  named  Brunetta,  whom  I 
failed  to  find. 

Howells.  Yes,  Brunetta  was  the  first 
friend  I  had  in  Venice.  He  was  a  dis- 
tinctly Latin  character — sober,  well  regu- 
lated, and  probity  itself. 

Boyesen.  Do  you  call  that  the  Latin 
character  ? 

Howells.  It  is  not  our  conventional  idea 
of  it ;  but  it  is  fully  as  characteristic,  if 
not  more  so,  than  the  light,  mercurial, 
pleasure-loving  type  which  somehow  in 
literature  has  displaced  the  other.  Bru- 
netta and  I  promptly  made  the  discovery 
that  we  were  congenial.  Then  we  became 
daily  companions.  I  had  a  number  of 
other  Italian  friends  too,  full  of  beautiful 
bonhomie  and  Southern  sweetness  of  tem- 
perament. 

Boyesen.  You  must  have  acquired  Italian 
in  a  very  short  time  ? 

Howells.  Yes;  being  domesticated  in  that 
way  in  the  very  heart  of  that  Italy  which 
was  then  Italia  irridente,  I  could  not  help 
steeping  myself  in  its  atmosphere  and 
breathing  in  the  language,  with  the  rest  of 
its  very  composite  flavors. 

Boyesen.  Yes  ;  and  whatever  I  know  of 
Italian  literature  I  owe  largely  to  the  com- 
pleteness of  that  soaking  process  of  yours. 
Your  book  on  the  Italian  poets  is  one  of 
the  most  charmingly  sympathetic  and  il- 
luminative bits  of  criticism  that  I  know. 

Howells.  I  am  glad  you  think  so  ;  but 
the  book  was  never  a  popular  success.  Of 


144 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


all  the  Italian  authors,  the  one  I  delighted 
in  the  most  was  Goldoni.  His  exquisite 
realism  fascinated  me.  It  was  the  sort  of 
thing  which  I  felt  I  ought  not  to  like  ;  but 
for  all  that  I  liked  it  immensely. 

Boyesen.  How  do  you  mean  that  you 
ought  not  to  like  it  ? 

Howells.  Why,  I  was  an  idealist  in 
those  days.  I  was  only  twenty-four  or 
twenty-five  years  old,  and  I  knew  the 
world  chiefly  through  literature.  I  was 
all  the  time  trying  to  see  things  as  others 
had  seen  them,  and  I  had  a  notion  that,  in 
literature,  persons  and  things  should  be 
nobler  and  better  than  they  are  in  the  sor- 
did reality  ;  and  this  romantic  glamour 
veiled  the  world  to  me,  and  kept  me  from 
seeing  things  as  they  are.  But  in  the  lanes 
and  alleys  of  Venice  I  found  Goldoni 
everywhere.  Scenes  from  his  plays  were 
enacted  before  my  eyes,  with  all  the  charm- 
ing Southern  vividness  of  speech  and  ges- 
ture, and  I  seemed  at  every  turn  to  have 
stepped  unawares  into  one  of  his  come- 
dies. I  believe  this  was  the  beginning  of 
my  revolt.  But  it  was  a  good  while  yet 
before  I  found  my  own  bearings. 


f£?ii 


S^^^^iv^- "•£•' '"  ^''•-"'^^^.&^^^«Rl-i  T ' 

ilMEfflWwira^^ilite ! 


THE   GIUSTINIANI    PALACE,    HOWELI.S'S    HOME   IN    VENICE. 


Boyesen.  But  permit  me  to  say  that  it 
was  an  exquisitely  delicate  set  of  fresh 
Western  senses  you  brought  with  you  to 
Venice.  When  I  was  in  Venice  in  1878,  I 
could  not  get  away  from  you,  however 
much  I  tried.  I  saw  your  old  Venetian 
senator,  in  his  august  rags,  roasting  cof- 
fee ;  and  I  promenaded  about  for  days  in 
the  chapters  of  your  "  Venetian  Life,"  like 
the  Knight  Huldbrand  in  the  Enchanted 
Forest  in  "  Undine,"  and  I  could  not  find 
my  way  out.  Of  course,  I  know  that, 
being  what  you  were,  you  could  not  have 
helped  writing  that  book,  but  what  was  the 
immediate  cause  of  your  writing  it  ? 

Howells.  From  the  day  I  arrived  in  Ven- 
ice I  kept  a  journal  in  which  I  noted  down 
my  impressions.  I  found  a  young  pleasure 
in  registering  my  sensations  at  the  sight  of 
notable  things,  and  literary  reminiscences 
usually  shimmered  through  my  observa- 
tions. Then  I  received  an  offer  from  the 
"  Boston  Daily  Advertiser  "  to  write  week- 
ly or  bi-weekly  letters,  for  which  they  paid 
me  five  dollars,  in  greenbacks,  a  column, 
nonpareil.  By  the  time  this  sum  reached 
Venice,  shaven  and  shorn  by  discounts  for 
exchange  in  gold  premium,  it  had  usually 
shrunk  to  half  its  size  or  less.  Still  I  was 
glad  enough  to  get  even  that,  and  I  kept 
on  writing  joyously.  So  the  book  grew  in 
my  hands  until,  at  the  time  I  resigned,  in 
1865,  I  was  trying  to  have  it  published.  I 
offered  it  successively  to  a  number  of  Eng- 
lish publishers  ;  but  they  all  declined  it. 

At  last  Mr.  Triibner  agreed  to  take  it,  if 
I  could  guarantee  the  sale  of  five  hundred 
copies  in  the  United  States,  or  induce  an 
American  publisher  to  buy  that  number  of 
copies  in  sheets.  I  happened  to  cross  the 
ocean  with  Mr.  Hurd  of  the  New  York  firm 
of  Hurd  &  Houghton,  and  repeated  Mr. 
Triibner's  proposition  to  him.  He  refused 
to  commit  himself  ;  but  some  weeks  after 
my  arrival  in  New  York  he  told  me  that 
the  risk  was  practically  nothing  at  all,  and 
that  his  firm  would  agree  to  take  the  five 
hundred  copies.  The  book  was  an  instant 
success.  I  don't  know  how  many  editions 
of  it  have  been  printed,  but  I  should  say 
that  its  sale  has  been  upward  of  forty  thou- 
sand copies,  and  it  still  continues.  The 
English  weeklies  gave  me  long  compli- 
mentary notices,  which  I  carried  about  for 
months  in  my  pocket  like  love-letters,  and 
read  surreptitiously  at  odd  moments.  I 
thought  it  was  curious  that  other  people  to 
whom  I  showed  the  reviews  did  not  seem 
much  interested. 

Boyesen.  After  returning  to  this  coun- 
try, did  not  you  settle  down  in  New  York  ? 


HO  WELLS  AND  BOYESEN. 


145 


Howells.     Yes ;  I  was  for  a  while  a  free 
lance  in  literature.     I  did  whatever  came 
in  my  way,  and   sold   my  articles  to  the 
newspapers,    going  about    from    office   to 
office,  but  I  was  finally  offered  a  place  on 
"  The  Nation,"  where  I  obtained  a  fixed 
position    at  a    salary.     I  had  at    times  a 
sense  that,  by  going  abroad,  I  had  fallen 
out  of  the  American  procession  of  prog- 
ress ;  and,  though  I  was  elbowing  my  way 
energetically  through  the  crowd,  I  seemed 
to  have  a  tremendous  diffi- 
culty in  recovering  my  lost 
place  on  my  native  soil,  and 
asserting  my  full  right  to  it. 
So,  when    young   men    beg 
me  to  recommend  them  for 
consulships,  I  always  feel  in 
duty   bound  to  impress  on 
them  this  great   danger  of 
falling  out  of    the   proces- 
sion,    and    asking    them 
whether    they    have    confi- 
dence in  their  ability  to  re- 
conquer the  place  they  have 
deserted  ;  for  while  they  are 
away  it  will  be  pretty  sure  to 
be  filled  by  somebody  else. 
A    man    returning    from    a 
residence  of   several   years 
abroad  has  a  sense  of  super- 
fluity in  his  own  country — 
he  has  become  a  mere  super- 
numerary whose  presence  or 
absence  makes  no  particular 
difference. 

Boyesen.  What  year  did 
you  leave  "  The  Nation" 
and  assume  the  editorship 
of  "The  Atlantic"? 

Howells.  I  took  the  edi- 
torship in  1872,  but  went  to 
live  in  Cambridge  six  or 
seven  years  before.  I  was 
first  assistant  editor  under 
James  T.  Fields,  who  was 
uniformly  kind  and  consid- 
erate, and  with  whom  I  got 
along  perfectly.  It  was  a  place  that  he 
could  have  made  odious  to  me,  but  he 
made  it  delightful.  I  have  the  tenderest 
regard  and  the  brightest  respect  for  his 
memory. 

Boyesen.  I  need  scarcely  ask  you  if  your 
association  with  Lowell  was  agreeable  ? 

Howells.  It  was  in  every  way  charming. 
He  was  twenty  years  my  senior,  but  he 
always  treated  me  as  an  equal  and  a  con- 
temporary. And  you  know  the  difference 
between  thirty  and  fifty  is  far  greater  than 
between  forty  and  sixty,  or  fifty  and 


Boyesen. 


\V.    D.    HOWELLS, 
FROM 


seventy.  I  dined  with  him  every  week, 
and  he  showed  the  friendliest  appreciation 
of  the  work  I  was  trying  to  do.  We  took 
long  walks  together ;  and  you  know  what  a 
rare  talker  he  was.  Somehow  I  got  much 
nearer  to  him  than  to  Longfellow.  As  a 
man  Longfellow  was  flawless.  He  was 
full  of  noble  friendliness  and  encourage- 
ment to  all  literary  workers  in  whom  he 
believed. 

Do  you  remember  you  once 
said  to  me  that  he  was  a 
most  inveterate  praiser? 

Howells.  I  may  have  said 
that ;  for  in  the  kindness  of 
his  heart,  and  his  constitu- 
tional reluctance  to  give 
pain,  he  did  undoubtedly 
often  strain  a  point  or  two 
in  speaking  well  of  things. 
But  that  was  part  of  his 
beautiful  kindliness  of  soul 
and  admirable  urbanity. 
Lowell,  you  know,  confessed 
to  being  "a  tory  in  his 
nerves  ;  "  but  Longfellow, 
with  all  his  stateliness  of 
manner,  was  nobly  and  per- 
fectly democratic.  He  was 
ideally  good ;  I  think  he 
was  without  a  fault. 

Boyesen.  I  have  never 
known  a  man  who  was  more 
completely  free  from  snob- 
bishness and  pretence  of  all 
kinds.  It  delighted  him  to 
go  out  of  his  way  to  do  a 
man  a  favor.  There  was, 
however,  a  little  touch  of 
Puritan  pallor  in  his  tem- 
perament, a  slight  lack  of 
robustness  ;  that  is,  if  his 
brother's  biography  can  be 
trusted.  What  I  mean  to 
say  is,  that  he  appears  there 
a  trifle  too  perfect  ;  too 
bloodlessly,  and  almost 
frostily,  statuesque.  I  have 
always  had  a  little  diminutive  grudge 
against  the  Rev.  Samuel  Longfellow  for 
not  using  a  single  one  of  those  beautiful 
anecdotes  I  sent  him  illustrative  of  the 
warmer  and  more  genial  side  of  the  poet's 
character.  He  evidently  wanted  to  portray 
a  Plutarchian  man  of  heroic  size,  and  he 
therefore  had  to  exclude  all  that  was  subtly 
individualizing. 

Howells.     Well,  there  is  always  room  for 
another  biography  of  Longfellow. 

Boyesen.     At  the  time  when  I  made  your 
acquaintance,   in   1871,  you   were   writing 


AFTER    HIS    RETURN 


146 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


Vf.    D.    HOWELLS. 


From  a  photograph  taken  at  Cambridge  in  1868. 


was  an  incomparably  delightful  and  inter- 
esting man. 

Boyesen.  Yes;  I  remember  him' well.  I 
doubt  if  I  ever  heard  a  more  brilliant 
talker. 

Howells.  No  ;  he  was  one  of  the  best 
talkers  in  America.  And  didn't  the  im- 
mortal Ralph  Keeler  appear  upon  the 
scene  during  the  summer  of  '71  or  '72  ? 

Boyesen.  Yes  ;  your  small  son  "  Bua"  in- 
sisted upon  calling  him  "  Big  Man  Keeler," 
in  spite  of  his  small  size. 

Howells.  Yes,  Bua  was  the  only  one 
who  ever  saw  Keeler  life-size. 

Boyesen.  I  remember  how  he  sat  in  your 
library  and  told  stories  of  his  negro  min- 
strel days  and  his  wild  adventures  in 

"Their  Wedding  Journey."  Do  you  re-  many  climes,  and  did  not  care  whether 
member  the  glorious  talks  we  had  together,  you  laughed  with  him  or  at  him,  but 
while  the  hours  of  the  night  slipped  away  would  join  you  from  sheer  sympathy  ;  and 
unnoticed  ?  We  have  no  more  of  those  how  we  all  laughed  in  chorus  until  our 
splendid  conversational  rages  nowadays,  sides  ached  ! 

How  eloquent  we  were,  to  be  sure  ;  and  Howells.  Poor  Keeler  !  He  was  a  sort 
with  what  delight  you  read  those  chapters  of  migratory,  nomadic  survival  ;  but  he 
on  "Niagara,"  "Quebec,"  and  "The  St.  had  fine  qualities,  and  was  well  equipped 
Lawrence  ;  "  and  with  what  rapture  I  lis-  for  a  sort  of  fiction.  If  he  had  lived  he 
tened !  I  can  never  read  them  without  might  have  written  the  great  American 
supplying  the  cadence  of  your  voice,  and  novel.  Who  knows? 

seeing     you     seated,     twenty-two     years        Boyesen.    Was  not  it  at  Cambridge  that 
younger   than    now,   in   that    cosey    little    Bjornstjerne  Bjornson  visited  you  ? 
library  in  Berkeley  Street.  Howells.   No  ;  that  was  in  1881,  at  Bel- 

Howells.  Yes  ;  and  do  you  mind  our  mont,  where  we  went  in  order  to  be  in  the 
sudden  attacks  of  hunger,  when  we  would  country,  and  give  the  children  the  benefit 
start  on  a  foraging  expedition  into  the  eel-  of  country  air.  When  I  met  Bjornson  be- 
lar,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  return,  fore  we  had  always  talked  Italian  ;  but 
you  with  a  cheese  and  crackers, 
and  I  with  a  watermelon  and  a 
bottle  of  champagne  ?  What  jolly 
meals  we  improvised  !  Only  it  is 
a  wonder  to  me  that  we  survived 
them. 

Boyesen.  You  will  never  sus- 
pect what  an  influence  you  ex- 
erted upon  my  fate  by  your 
friendliness  and  sympathy  in 
those  never-to-be-forgotten  days. 
You  Americanized  me.  I  had 
been  an  alien,  and  felt  alien  in 
every  fibre  of  my  soul,  until  I  met 
you.  Then  I  became  domesti- 
cated. I  found  a  kindred  spirit, 
who  understood  me,  and  whom  I 
understood  ;  and  that  is  the  first 
and  indispensable  condition  of 
happiness.  It  was  at  your  house, 
at  a  luncheon,  I  think,  that  I  met 
Henry  James. 

Howells.  Yes ;  James  and  I 
w*ere  constant  companions,  we 
took  daily  walks  together;  and 
his  father,  the  elder  Henry  James, 


MR.    HOWELLS'S   STUDY    IN   CAMBRIDGE. 


HO  WELLS  AND  BOYESEN. 


147 


ift^V*^'  _^^^ 

^  .  -^J'i-  ,".  /  -  . 

.-,   -!\r 

W.    D.    HOWELLS'S    SUMMER    HOME    AT    BELMONT    IN    1878. 


the  first  thing  he  said  to  me  at  Belmont 
was  :  "  Now  we  will  speak  English."  And 
when  he  had  got  into  the  house  he  picked 
up  a  book  and  said,  in  his  abrupt  way  : 
"  We  do  not  put  enough  in  ;  "  meaning, 
thereby,  that  we  ignored  too  much  of  life 
in  our  fiction — excluded  it  out  of  regard 
for  propriety.  But  when  I  met  him,  some 
years  later,  in  Paris,  he  had  changed  his 
mind  about  that,  for  he  detested  the 
French  naturalism,  and  could  find  nothing 
to  praise  in  Zola. 

Boyesen.  I  am  going  to  ask  you  one  of 
the  interviewer's  stock  questions,  but  you 
need  not  answer,  you  know  :  Which  of  your 
books  do  you  regard  as  the  greatest  ? 

Howells.  I  have  always  taken  the  most 
satisfaction  in  "A  Modern  Instance."  I 
have  there  come  closest  to  American  life, 
as  I  know  it. 

Boyesen.  But  in  "  Silas  Lapham"  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  have  got  a  still  firmer  grip 
on  American  reality. 

Howells.  Perhaps.  Still,  I  prefer  "A 
Modern  Instance."  "Silas  Lapham"  is 


the  most  successful  novel  I  have  pub- 
lished, except  "A  Hazard  of  New  For- 
tunes," which  has  sold  nearly  twice  as 
many  copies  as  any  of  the  rest. 

Boyesen.  What  do  you  attribute  that 
to? 

Howells.  Possibly  to  the  fact  that  the 
scene  is  laid  in  New  York  ;  the  public 
throughout  the  country  is  far  more  in- 
terested in  New  York  than  in  Boston. 
New  York,  as  Lowell  once  said,  is  a  huge 
pudding,  and  every  town  and  village  has 
been  helped  to  a  slice,  or  wants  to  be. 

Boyesen.  I  rejoice  that  New  York  has 
found  such  a  subtly  appreciative  and  faith- 
ful chronicler  as  you  show  yourself  to  be 
in  "A  Hazard  of  New  Fortunes."  To  the 
equipment  of  a  great  city — a  world-city,  as 
the  Germans  say — belongs  a  great  novel- 
ist; that  is  to  say,  at  least  one.  And  even 
though  your  modesty  may  rebel,  I  shall 
persist  in  regarding  you  henceforth  as  the 
novelist  par  excellence  of  New  York. 

Howells.  Ah,  you  don't  expect  me  to 
live  up  to  that  bit  of  taffy  ! 


NOTE. — On  October  4,  1895,  as  this  book  was  going  through  the  press,  Professor  Boyesen  died  sud- 
denly, in  the  very-  prime  of  his  life,  being  but  forty-seven  years  old.  Writing  of  the  event,  one  who  knew 
him  intimately  says  :  "  The  death  of  Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen  takes  from  the  world  not  the  scholarly  pro- 
fessor and  eminent  author  only  ;  it  removes  from  our  midst  a  large-hearted,  generous,  public-spirited  gentle- 
man, and  this  is  the  loss  which  we  feel  hrst.  The  value  of  his  educational  labors  and  his  fame  as  a  writer 
are  known  to  all ;  the  active  part  he  has  taken  in  the  various  movements  to  purify  our  political  life  is  known 
to  many  ;  but  only  those  who  came  into  personal  contact  with  the  man  know  how  large  was  his  generosity, 
how  helpful  his  advice."  The  same  writer  speaks  of  Professor  Boyesen's  gifts  as  a  lecturer,  and  referring 
particularly  to  a  series  of  lectures  on  the  modern  novel,  he  says  :  "In  these  the  personal  element  was 
strong  ;  Professor  Boyesen  had  been  on  terms  of  friendship  and  even  intimacy  with  the  leading  novelists  of 
many  lands.  His  lectures  attracted  thousands  ;  the  large  hall  at  Columbia  College  was  filled  to  overflow- 
ing, often  an  hour  before  the  time  announced.  .  .  .  'It  was  all  due  to  the  personal  element,'  he 
said." — EDITOR. 


PORTRAITS    OF    W.    D.     HOWELLS. 


AGE    18.      185S.      RESIDENCE,  JEFFERSON,    OHIO.  AGE    23.     ,860.     NEWS  EDITOR  OF  "OHIO  STATK  JOU 


JOURNAL. 


AGE   25.      1862.      CONSUL   AT   VENICE. 


AGE  28.      MAY,    1865.     VENICE,    "VENETIAN    LIFE 


AGE  32.    1869.    CAMBRIDGE,  MASS.     "SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 


PORTRAITS  OF   W.   D.   HO  WELLS. 


149 


AGE   41.      1878.      BELMONT,  MASS.       ''THE   LADV   OF  THE  AGE   47.      1884.        BOSTON,    MASS.       "THE    RISE   OF   SILAS 

AROOSTOOK."  LAPHAM." 


AgE   50.       1887.       BOSTON.       "  APRIL   HOPES. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


AGE    53.       1890.       BOSTON.       "THE   SHADOW    OF    A    DREAM.1 


PORTRAITS   OF    PROFESSOR    H.    H.    BOYESEN. 

Born  in  Frederiksvxrn,  Norway,  September  23,  1848  ;  died  in  New  York,  October  4,  1895. 


AGE    17.      1865.      STUDENT,  CHRISTIANIA,  NORWAY.  AGE    19.       1867.      STUDENT,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CHRISTIANIA. 


PORTRAITS  OF  H.   H.   BOYESEN. 


CHICAGO.      EDITOR   OF    "  FREMAD." 


AGE  27.  1875.  PROFESSOR  OF  GERMAN  AT  CORNELL  UNI- 
VERSITY, ITHACA,  NEW  YORK.  "  TALES  OF  TWO 
HEMISPHERES." 


AGE  34.  1882.  PROFESSOR  OF  MODF.RN  LANGUAGES,  COLUM- 
BIA COLLEGE,  NEW  YORK  CITY.  "  DAUGHTER  OF  THE 
PHILISTINES." 


1893.      THE  AUTHOR   OF  "SOCIAL  STRUGGLERS. 


JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY. 

A    CONVERSATION    BETWEEN    THE    "HOOSIER"    POET    AND    HAMLIN    GARLAND. 

RECORDED  BY  MR.  GARLAND. 


RILEY'S  country,  like  most  of  the  State 
of  Indiana,  has  been  won  from  the 
original  forest  by  incredible  toil.  Three 
generations  of  men  have  laid  their  bones 
beneath  the  soil  that  now  blooms  into 
gold  and  lavender  harv'ests  of  wheat  and 
corn. 

The  traveller  to-day  can  read  this  record 
of  struggle  in  the  fringes  of  mighty  elms 
and  oaks  and  sycamores  which  form  the 
grim  background  of  every  pleasant  stretch 
of  stubble  or  corn  land. 

Greenfield,  lying  twenty 
miles  east  of  Indianapolis, 
is  to-day  an  agricultural 
town,  but  in  the  days  when 
Whitcomb  Riley  lived  here 
it  was  only  a  half-remove 
from  the  farm  and  the 
wood-lot  ;  and  the  fact 
that  he  was  brought  up  so 
near  to  the  farm,  and  yet 
not  deadened  and  soured 
by  its  toil,  accounts,  in 
great  measure  at  least,  for 
his  work. 

But  Greenfield  as  it 
stands  to-day,  modernized 
and  refined  somewhat,  is 
apparently  the  most  un- 
promising field  for  litera- 
ture, especially  for  poetry. 
It  has  no  hills  and  no  river 
nor  lake.  Nothing  but 
vast  and  radiant  sky,  and 
blue  vistas  of  fields  be- 
tween noble  trees. 

It  has  the  customary 
main  street  with  stores 
fronting  upon  it ;  the  usual 
small  shops,  and  also  its 
bar-rooms,  swarming  with 
loungers.  It  has  its  court- 
house in  the  square,  half- 
hid  by  great  trees — a  grim 
and  bare  building,  with  its 
portal  defaced  and  grimy. 
The  people,  as  they  pass 
you  in  the  street,  speak  in 
the  soft,  high-keyed  nasal 


drawl  which  is  the  basis  of  the  Hoosier 
dialect.  It  looks  to  be,  as  it  is,  halfway 
between  the  New  England  village  and  the 
Western  town. 

The  life,  like  that  of  all  small  towns  in 
America,  is  apparently  slow-moving,  pur- 
poseless, and  uninteresting  ;  and  yet  from 
this  town,  and  other  similar  towns,  has 
Whitcomb  Riley  drawn  the  sweetest  honey 
of  poesy — honey  with  a  native  delicious 
tang,  as  of  buckwheat  and  basswood  bloom, 


JAMES   WHITCOMB    RILEY. 

From  a  photograph  by  Barraud,  London. 


JAMES    WHITCOMB   RILEY—HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


-•.RIGGSBY  S   STATION.     — -THE   OLD    RILEY    HOUSE   AND    PRESENT   SUMMER    RESIDENCE,    GREENFIELD,    INDIANA. 

"  Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station — 

Back  where  the  latch-string's  a-hangin'  from  the  door, 
And  ever'  neighbor  round  the  place  is  dear  as  a  relation — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore  ! " 


with  hints  of  the  mullein  and  the  thistle  of 
dry  pastures. 

I  found  Mr.  Riley  sitting  on  the  porch 
of  the  old  homestead,  which  has  been  in 
alien  hands  for  a  long  time,  but  which  he 
has  lately  bought  back.  In  this  house  his 
childhood  was  passed,  at  a  time  when  the 
street  was  hardly  more  than  a  lane  in  the 
woods.  He  bought  it  because  of  old-time 
associations. 

"  I  am  living  here,"  he  wrote  me,  "  with 
two  married  sisters  keeping  house  for  me 
during  the  summer;  that  is  to  say,  I  ply 
spasmodically  between  here  and  Indian- 
apolis." 

I  was  determined  to  see  the  poet  here, 
in  the  midst  of  his  native  surroundings, 
rather  than  at  a  hotel  in  Indianapolis.  I 
was  very  glad  to  find  him  at  home,  for  it 
gave  me  opportunity  to  study  both  the 
poet  and  his  material. 

It  is  an  unpretentious  house  of  the  usual 
village  sort,  with  a  large  garden  ;  and  his 
two  charming  sisters  with  their  families 
(summering  here)  give  him  something 
more  of  a  home  atmosphere  than  he  has 
had  since  he  entered  the  lecturer's  profes- 
sion. Two  or  three  children — nephews 
and  nieces — companion  him  also. 


After  a  few  minutes'  chat  Riley  said, 
with  a  comical  side  glance  at  me  :  "  Come 
up  into  my  library."  I  knew  what  sort  of 
a  library  to  expect.  It  was  a  pleasant 
little  upper  room,  with  a  bed  and  a  small 
table  in  it,  and  about  a  dozen  books. 

Mr.  Riley  threw  out  his  hand  in  a  com- 
prehensive gesture,  and  said  :  "  This  is  as 
sumptuous  a  room  as  I  ever  get.  I  live 
most  o'  my  time  in  a  Pullman  car  or  a 
hotel,  and  you  know  how  blamed  luxu- 
rious an  ordinary  hotel  room  is." 

I  refused  to  be  drawn  off  into  side  dis- 
cussions, and  called  for  writing  paper. 
Riley  took  an  easy  position  on  the  bed, 
while  I  sharpened  pencils,  and  studied 
him  closely,  with  a  view  to  letting  my 
readers  know  how  he  looks. 

He  is  a  short  man,  with  square  shoul- 
ders and  a  large  head.  He  has  a  very 
dignified  manner — at  times.  His  face  is 
smoothly  shaven,  and,  though  he  is  not 
bald,  the  light  color  of  his  hair  makes  him 
seem  so.  His  eyes  are  gray  and  round, 
and  generally  solemn,  and  sometimes  stern. 
His  face  is  the  face  of  a  great  actor — in 
rest,  grim  and  inscrutable  ;  in  action,  full 
of  the  most  elusive  expressions,  capable  of 
humor  and  pathos.  Like  most  humorists, 


154 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


he  is  sad  in  repose.  His  language,  when 
he  chooses  to  have  it  so,  is  wonderfully 
concise  and  penetrating  and  beautiful. 
He  drops  often  into  dialect,  but  always 
with  a  look  on  his  face  which  shows  he  is 
aware  of  what  he  is  doing.  In  other 
words,  he  is  master  of  both  forms  of 
speech.  His  mouth  is  his  wonderful  feat- 
ure :  wide,  flexible,  clean-cut.  His  lips 
are  capable  of  the  grimmest  and  the  mer- 
riest lines.  When  he  reads  they  pout  like 
a  child's,  or  draw  down  into  a  straight, 
grim  line  like  a  New  England  deacon's,  or 
close  at  one  side,  and  uncover  his  white 
and  even  teeth  at  the  other,  in  the  sly 
smile  of  "  Benjamin  F.  Johnson,"  the 
humble  humorist  and  philosopher.  In  his 
own  proper  person  he  is  full  of  quaint  and 
beautiful  philosophy.  He  is  wise  rather 
than  learned — wise  with  the  quality  that 
is  in  proverbs,  almost  always  touched  with 
humor. 

His  eyes  are  near-sighted  and  his  nose 
prominent.  His  head  is  of  the  "  tack- 
hammer"  variety,  as  he  calls  it.  The 
public  insists  that  there  is  an  element  of 
resemblance  between  Mr.  Riley,  Eugene 
Field,  and  Bill  Nye.  He  is  about  forty 
years  of  age  and  a  bachelor — presumably 
from  choice.  He  is  a  man  of  marked 
neatness  of  dress  and  delicacy  of  manner. 
I  began  business  by  asking  if  he  remem- 
bered where  we  met  last. 

"Certainly — Kipling's.  Great  story- 
teller, Kipling.  I  like  to  hear  him  tell 
about  animals.  Remember  his  story  of 
the  two  elephants  that  lambasted  the  one 
that  went  'must'?" 

"  I  guess  I  do.  I  have  a  suspicion,  how- 
ever, that  Kipling  was  drawing  a  long  bow 
for  our  benefit,  especially  in  that  story  of 
the  elephant  that  chewed  a  stalk  of  cane 
into  a  swab  to  wind  in  the  clothing  of  his 
keeper,  in  order  to  get  him  within  reach. 
That  struck  me  as  bearing  down  pretty 
hard  on  a  couple  of  simple  Western  boys 
like  us." 

"  Waive  the  difference  for  genius.  He 
made  it  a  good  story,  anyway  ;  and,  aside 
from  his  great  gifts,  I  consider  Kipling  a 
lovely  fellow.  I  like  him  because  he's 
natively  interested  in  the  common  man." 

I  nodded  my  assent,  and  Riley  went  on  : 

"  Kipling  had  the  good  fortune  to  get 
started  early,  and  he's  kept  busy  right 
along.  A  man  who  is  great  has  no  time 
for  anything  else,"  he  added,  in  that  pecu- 
liarity of  phrase  and  solemnity  of  utter- 
ance which  made  me  despair  of  ever 
dramatizing  him. 

"  He's   going   to  do  better,"   I    replied. 


"  The  best  story  in  that  book  is  '  His 
Private  Honor.'  That's  as  good  as  any- 
body does.  What  makes  Kipling  great  is 
his  fidelity  to  his  own  convictions  and  to 
his  own  conditions,  his  writing  what  he 
knows  about.  And,  by  the  way,  the  Nor- 
wegians and  Swedes  at  the  World's  Fair 
have  read  us  a  good  lesson  on  that  score. 
They've  put  certain  phases  of  their  life 
and  landscape  before  us  with  immense  vim 
and  truth,  while  our  American  artists  have 
mainly  gone  hunting  for  themes — Breton 
peasants  and  Japanese  dancing-girls." 

Riley  sternly  roused  up  to  interrupt : 
"And  ignoring  the  best  material  in  the 
world.  Material  just  out  o'  God's  hand, 
lying  around  thick  " — then  quick  as  light 
he  was  Old  Man  Johnson  again  : 

"  '  Thick  as  clods  in  the  fields  and  lanes 

Er  these-ere  little  hop-toads  when  it  rains  ! '  " 

"  American  artists  and  poets  have  al- 
ways known  too  much,"  I  went  on.  "  We've 
been  so  afraid  the  world  would  find  us 
lacking  in  scholarship,  that  we've  allowed 
it  to  find  us  lacking  in  creative  work. 
W7e've  been  so  very  correct,  that  we've 
imitated.  Now,  if  you'd  had  four  or  five 
years  of  Latin,  Riley,  you'd  be  writing 
Latin  odes  or  translations." 

Riley  looked  grave.  "  I  don't  know  but 
you're  right.  Still,  you  can't  tell.  Some- 
times I  feel  that  I  am  handicapped  by 
ignorance  of  history  and  rhetoric  and 
languages." 

"Well,  of  course,  I  ought  not  to  discuss 
a  thing  like  this  in  your  presence,  but  I 
think  the  whole  thing  has  worked  out 
beautifully  for  the  glory  of  Indiana  and 
Western  literature." 

There  came  a  comical  light  into  his  eyes, 
and  his  lips  twisted  up  into  a  sly  grin  at  the 
side,  as  he  dropped  into  dialect  :  "  I  don't 
take  no  credit  for  my  ignorance.  Jest  born 
thataway,"  and  he  added  a  moment  later, 
with  a  characteristic  swift  change  to  deep 
earnestness  :  "  My  work  did  itself." 

As  he  lay,  with  that  introspective  look 
in  his  eyes,  I  took  refuge  in  one  of  the 
questions  I  had  noted  down  :  "  Did  you 
ever  actually  live  on  a  farm  ?  " 

"  No.  All  I  got  of  farm  life  I  picked  up 
right  from  this  distance — this  town — this 
old  homestead.  Of  course,  Greenfield  was 
nothing  but  a  farmer  town  then,  and  be- 
sides, father  had  a  farm  just  on  the  edge 
of  town,  and  in  corn-plantin'  times  he  used 
to  press  us  boys  into  service,  and  we  went 
very  loathfully,  at  least  I  did.  I  got  hold 
of  farm  life  some  way — all  ways,  in  fact. 


JAMES   WHITCOMB  RILEY—HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


I  might  not  have  made  use  of  it  if  I  had 
been  closer  to  it  than  this." 

"  Yes,  there's  something  in  that.  You 
would  have  failed,  probably,  in  your  per- 
spective. The  actual  work  on  a  farm 
doesn't  make  poets.  Work  is  a  good  thing 
in  the  retrospect,  or  when  you  can  regulate 
the  amount  of  it.  Yes,  I  guess  you  had 
just  the  kind  of  a  life  to  give  you  a  hold 
on  the  salient  facts  of  farm  life.  Anyhow, 
you've  done  it,  that's  settled." 

Riley  was  thinking  about  something 
which  amused  him,  and  he  roused  up  to 
dramatize  a  little  scene.  "  Sometimes  some 


kins  with  for  feed,  and  I  get  the  smell  of 
the  fodder  and  the  cattle,  so  that  it  brings 
up  the  right  picture  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader.  I  don't  know  how  I  do  it.  It  ain't 
me." 

His  voice  took  on  a  deeper  note,  and  his- 
face  shone  with  a  strange  sort  of  mysti- 
cism which  often  comes  out  in  his  earnest- 
moments.  He  put  his  fingers  to  his  lips  ia 
a  descriptive  gesture,  as  if  he  held  a  trum- 
pet. "  I'm  only  the  '  wilier  '  through  whicfr 
the  whistle  comes." 

"The  basis  of  all  art  is  spontaneous  ob- 
servation," I  said,  referring  back  a  little. 


"MILROY'S  GROVE"  AND  OLD  NATIONAL  ROAD  BRIDGE,  BRANDVWINE. 

"  Where  the  dusky  turtle  lies  basking  on  the  gravel 

Of  the  sunny  sand-bar  in  the  middle  tide, 
And  the  ghostly  dragonfly  pauses  in  his  travel 
To  rest  like  a  blossom  where  the  water-lily  died." 


-Babyhood. 


real  country  boy  gives  me  the  round  turn 
on  some  farm  points.  For  instance,  here 
comes  one  stepping  up  to  me  :  '  You  never 
lived  on  a  farm,'  he  says.  '  Why  not  ?  '  says 
I.  'Well,'  he  says,  'a  turkey-cock  gobbles, 
but  he  don't  ky-ouck  as  your  poetry  says.' 
He  had  me  right  there.  It's  the  turkey- 
hen  that  ky-oucks.  '  Well,  you'll  never 
hear  another  turkey-cock  of  mine  ky- 
ouckin','  says  I." 

While  I  laughed,  Riley  became  serious 
again.  "  But  generally  I  hit  on  the  right 
symbols.  I  get  the  frost  on  the  pumpkin 
and  the  fodder  in  the  shock  ;  and  I  seethe 
frost  on  the  old  axe  they  split  the  pump- 


"  If  a  man  is  to  work  out  an  individual 
utterance  with  the  subtlety  and  suggestion 
of  life,  he  can't  go  diggin'  around  among 
the  bones  of  buried  prophets.  I  take  it 
you  didn't  go  to  school  much." 

"  No,  and  when  I  did  I  was  a  failure  in 
everything — except  reading,  maybe.  I 
liked  to  read.  We  had  McGuffey's  Series, 
you  know,  and  there  was  some  good  stuff 
there.  There  was  Irving  and  Bryant  and 
Cooper  and  Dickens- 


"  And  '  Lochiel's  Warning  '- 


He  accepted  the  interruption.  "  And 
'  The  Battle  of  Waterloo,'  and  '  The  Death 
of  Little  Nell' " 


156 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


I  rubbed  my  knees  with  glee  as  I  again 
interrupted  :  "  And  there  was  '  Marco  Boz- 
zaris,'  you  know,  and  '  Rienzi.'  You  recol- 
lect that  speech  of  Rienzi's — '  I  come  not 
here  to  talk,'  etc.  ?  I  used  to  count  the 
class  to  see  if  '  Rouse,  ye  Slaves,'  would 
come  to  me.  It  was  capitalized,  you  re- 
member. It  always. scared  me  nearly  to 
death  to  read  those  capitalized  passages." 

Riley  mused.  "  Pathos  seems  to  be  the 
worst  with  me.  I  used  to  run  away  when 
we  were  to  read  '  Little  Nell.'  I  knew  I 
couldn't  read  it  without  crying,  and  I  knew 
they'd  all  laugh  at  me  and  make  the  whole 
thing  ridiculous.  I  couldn't  stand  that. 
My  teacher,  Lee  O.  Harris,  was  a  friend  to 
me  and  helped  me  in  many  ways.  He  got 
to  understand  me  beautifully.  He  knew 
I  couldn't  learn  arithmetic.  There  wasn't 
any  gray  matter  in  that  part  of  my  head. 
Perfectly  empty  !  But  I  can't  remember 
when  I  wasn't  a  declaimer.  I  always  took 
natively  to  anything  theatrical.  History  I 
took  a  dislike  to,  as  a  thing  without  juice, 
and  so  I'm  not  particularly  well  stocked 
in  dates  and  events  of  the  past." 

"  Well,  that's  a  good  thing,  too,  I  guess," 
I  said,  pushing  my  point  again.  "  It  has 
thrown  you  upon  the  present,  and  kept 
you  dealing  with  your  own  people.  Of 
course,  I  don't  mean  to  argue  that  perfect 
ignorance  is  a  thing  to  be  desired,  but 
there  is  no  distinction  in  the  historical 
poem  or  novel,  to  my  mind.  Everybody's 
done  that." 

Riley  continued  :  "  Harris,  in  addition 
to  being  a  scholar  and  a  teacher,  was,  and 
is,  a  poet.  He  was  also  a  playwright,  and 
made  me  a  success  in  a  comedy  part  which 
he  wrote  for  me,  in  our  home  theatricals." 

"  Well,  now,  that  makes  me  think.  It 
was  your  power  to  recite  that  carried  you 
into  the  patent-medicine  cart,  wasn't  it  ? 
And  how  about  that  sign-painting  ?  Which 
came  first  ? " 

"  The  sign-painting.  I  was  a  boy  in  my 
teens  when  I  took  up  sign-painting." 

"  Did  you  serve  a  regular  apprentice- 
ship ?  " 

"  Yes,  learned  my  trade  of  an  old  Dutch- 
man here,  by  the  name  of  Keefer,  who 
was  an  artist  in  his  way.  I  had  a  natural 
faculty  for  drawing.  I  suppose  I  could 
have  illustrated  my  books  if  I  had  given 
time  to  it.  It's  rather  curious,  but  I  hadn't 
been  with  the  old  fellow  much  more  than 
a  week  before  I  went  to  him  and  asked 
him  why  he  didn't  make  his  own  letters. 
I  couldn't  see  why  he  copied  from  the  same 
old  forms  all  the  time.  I  hated  to  copy 
anything." 


"  Well,  now,  I  want  to  know  about  that 
patent-medicine  peddling." 

Something  in  my  tone  made  him  reply 
quickly  : 

"  That  has  been  distorted.  It  was  really 
a  very  simple  matter,  and  followed  the 
sign-painting  naturally.  After  the  'trade' 
episode  I  had  tried  to  read  law  with  my 
father,  but  I  didn't  seem  to  get  anywhere. 
Forgot  as  diligently  as  I  read.  So  far  as 
school  equipment  was  concerned,  I  was  an 
advertised  idiot ;  so  what  was  the  use  ?  I 
had  a  trade,  but  it  was  hardly  what  I 
wanted  to  do  always,  and  my  health  was 
bad — very  bad — bad  as  /  was  ! 

"  A  doctor  here  in  Greenfield  advised 
me  to  travel.  But  how  in  the  world  was 
I  to  travel  without  money  ?  It  was  just  at 
this  time  that  the  patent-medicine  man 
came  along.  He  needed  a  man,  and  I 
argued  this  way  :  '  This  man  is  a  doctor, 
and  if  I  must  travel,  better  travel  with  a 
doctor.'  He  had  a  fine  team,  and  a  nice- 
looking  lot  of  fellows  with  him ;  so  I 
plucked  up  courage  to  ask  if  I  couldn't  go 
along  and  paint  his  advertisements  for 
him." 

Riley  smiled  with  retrospective  amuse- 
ment. "I  rode  out  of  town  behind  those 
horses  without  saying  good-by  to  any  one. 
And  though  my  patron  wasn't  a  diploma'd 
doctor,  as  I  found  out,  he  was  a  mighty 
fine  man,  and  kind  to  his  horses,  which 
was  a  recommendation.  He  was  a  man  of 
good  habits,  and  the  whole  company  was 
made  up  of  good  straight  boys." 

"  How  long  were  you  with  them  ?" 

"  About  a  year.  Went  home  with  him, 
and  was  made  same  as  one  of  his  own 
lovely  family.  He  lived  at  Lima,  Ohio. 
My  experience  with  him  put  an  idea  in  my 
head — a  business  idea,  for  a  wonder — and 
the  next  year  I  went  down  to  Anderson 
and  went  into  partnership  with  a  young 
fellow  to  travel,  organizing  a  scheme  of 
advertising  with  paint,  which  we  called 
'  The  Graphic  Company.'  We  had  five  or 
six  young  fellows,  all  musicians  as  well  as 
handy  painters,  and  we  used  to  capture 
the  towns  with  our  music.  One  fellow 
could  whistle  like  a  nightingale,  another 
sang  like  an  angel,  and  another  played  the 
banjo.  I  scuffled  with  the  violin  and  gui- 
tar." 

"  I  thought  so,  from  that  poem  on  '  The 
Fiddle'  in  'The  Old  Swimmin'  Hole.'" 

"  Our  only  dissipation  was  clothes.  We 
dressed  loud.  You  could  hear  our  clothes 
an  incalculable  distance.  We  had  an  idea 
it  helped  business.  Our  plan  was  to  take 
one  firm  of  each  business  in  a  town,  paint- 


JAMES    WHITCOMB  RILEY—HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


'THE  OLD  SWIMMIN'-HOLE"  AS  IT  NOW  APPEARS. 

"  Childish  voices,  farther  on, 

Where  the  truant  stream  has  gone, 
Vex  the  echoes  of  the  wood 
Till  no  word  is  understood — 
Save  that  we  are  well  aware 
Happiness  is  hiding  there  : — 
There,  in  leafy  coverts,  nude 
Little  bodies  poise  and  leap, 
Spattering  the  solitude 

"  And  the  silence  everywhere — 
Mimic  monsters  of  the  deep  ! — 
Wallowing  in  sandy  shoals — 
Plunging  headlong  out  of  sight, 
And,  with  spurtings  of  delight, 
Clutching  hands  and  slippery  soles, 
Climbing  up  the  treacherous  steep 
Over  which  the  spring-board  spurns 
Each  again  as  he  returns." 

— In  Swimming-  'lime. 


158 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


ing  its  advertisements  on  every  road  lead- 
ing into  the  town  :  '  Go  to  Mooney's,'  and 
things  like  that,  you  understand.  We 
made  a  good  thing  at  it." 

"  How  long  did  you  do  business  ?" 

"  Three  or  four  years,  and  we  had  more 
fun  than  anybody."  He  turned  another 
comical  look  on  me  over  his  pinch-nose 
eyeglasses.  "You've  heard  this  story 
about  my  travelling  all  over  the  State  as  a 
blind  sign-painter  ?  Well,  that  started  this 
way.  One  day  we  were  in  a  small  town 
somewhere,  and  a  great  crowd  watching 
us  in  breathless  wonder  and  curiosity  ;  and 
one  of  our  party  said  :  '  Riley,  let  me  in- 
troduce you  as  a  blind  sign-painter.'  So 
just  for  mischief  I  put  on  a  crazy  look  in 
the  eyes  and  pretended  to  be  blind.  They 
led  me  carefully  to  the  ladder,  and  handed 
me  my  brush  and  paints.  It  was  great  fun. 
I'd  hear  them  saying  as  I  worked,  '  That 
feller  ain't  blind.'  '  Yes,  he  is;  see  his  eyes.' 
''No,  he  ain't,  I  tell  you;  he's  playin'  off.' 
•*  I  tell  you  he  is  blind.  Didn't  you  see 
him  fall  over  a  box  there  and  spill  all  his 
paints  ? ' ' 

Riley  rose  here  and  laughingly  reenacted 
the  scene,  and  I  don't  wonder  that  the  vil- 
lagers were  deceived,  so  perfect  was  his 
.assumption  of  the  patient,  weary  look  of  a 
blind  person. 

I  laughed  at  the  joke.  It  was  like  the 
tricks  boys  play  at  college. 

Riley  went  on.  "  Now,  that's  all  there 
was  to  it.  I  was  a  blind  sign-painter  one 
day,  and  forgot  it  the  next.  We  were  all 
boys,  and  jokers,  naturally  enough,  but 
not  lawless.  All  were  good  fellows.  All 
had  nice  homes  and  good  people." 

"  Were  you  writing  any  at  this  time  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  was  always  writing  for  pur- 
poses of  recitation.  I  couldn't  find  printed 
poetry  that  was  natural  enough  to  speak. 
From  a  child  I  had  always  flinched  at  false 
rhymes  and  inversions.  I  liked  John  G. 
Saxe  because  he  had  a  jaunty  trick  of 
rhyming  artlessly  ;  made  the  sense  demand 
the  rhyme — like 

"  Young  Peter  Pyramus — I  call  him  Peter, 
Not  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme  or  the  metre, 
But  merely  to  make  the  name  completer.' 

"  I  liked  those  classic  travesties,  too — he 
poked  fun  at  the  tedious  old  themes,  and 
that  always  pleased  me."  Riley's  voice 
grew  stern,  as  he  said  :  "  I'm  against  the  fel- 
lows who  celebrate  the  old  to  the  neglect  of 
our  own  kith  and  kin.  So  I  was  always  try- 
ing to  write  of  the  kind  of  people  I  knew, 
and  especially  to  write  verse  that  I  could 


read  just  as  if  it  were  being  spoken  for  the 
first  time." 

"  I  saw  in  a  newspaper  the  other  day 
that  you  began  your  journalistic  work  in 
Anderson." 

"  That's  right.  When  I  got  back  from 
my  last  trip  with  'The  Graphic  Company,' 
young  Will  M.  Croan  offered  me  a  place 
on  a  paper  he  was  just  connecting  himself 
with.  He  had  heard  that  I  could  write, 
and  took  it  for  granted  I  would  be  a 
valuable  man  in  the  local  and  advertising 
departments.  I  was.  I  inaugurated  at 
once  a  feature  of  free  doggerel  advertis- 
ing, for  our  regular  advertisers.  I  wrote 
reams  and  miles  of  stuff  like  this  : 

"  '  O  Yawcob  -Stein, 
Dot  frent  of  mine, 

He  got  dot  Cloding  down  so  fine 
Dot  effer'body  bin  a-buyin' 
Fon  goot  old  Yawcob  Stein.'  " 

"I'd  like  to  see  some  of  those  old  papers. 
I  suppose  they're  all  down  there  on  file." 

"  I'm  afraid  they  are.  It's  all  there. 
Whole  hemorrhages  of  it." 

"Did  you  go  from  there  to  Indianapo- 
lis?" 

He  nodded. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  go  ?  Did  you 
go  on  the  venture  ?  " 

"  No,  it  came  about  in  this  way.  I  had 
a  lot  of  real  stuff,  as  I  fancied,  quite  dif- 
ferent from  the  doggerel  I've  just  quoted  ; 
and  when  I  found  something  pleased  the 
people,  as  I'd  hold  'em  up  and  read  it 
to  'em,  I'd  send  it  off  to  a  magazine,  and 
it  would  come  back  quite  promptly  by 
return  mail.  Still  I  believed  in  it.  I  had 
a  friend  on  the  opposition  paper  who  was 
always  laughing  at  my  pretensions  as  a 
poet,  and  I  was  anxious  to  show  him  I 
could  write  poetry  just  as  good  as  that 
which  he  praised  of  other  writers  ;  and 
it  was  for  his  benefit  I  concocted  that 
scheme  of  imitating  Poe.  You've  heard  of 
that?" 

"  Not  from  any  reliable  source." 

"Well,  it  was  just,  this  way.  I  deter- 
mined to  write  a  poem  in  imitation  of  some 
well-known  poet,  to  see  if  I  couldn't  trap 
my  hypercritical  friend.  I  had  no  idea  of 
doing  anything  more  than  that.  So  I 
coined  and  wrote  and  sent  '  Leonainie  '  to 
a  paper  in  a  neighboring  county,  in  order 
that  I  might  attack  it  myself  in  my  own 
paper  and  so  throw  my  friend  completely 
off  the  track.  The  whole  thing  was  a 
boy's  fool  trick.  I  didn't  suppose  it  would 
go  out  of  the  State  exchanges.  I  was  ap- 
palled at  the  result.  The  whole  country 


JAMES   WHITCOMB  RILEY—HAMLIN  GARLAND.  159 


RAILROAD    BRIDGE,   BRANDYWINE. 


"  Through  the  viny,  shady-shiny 
Interspaces,  shot  with  tiny 
Flying  motes  that  fleck  the  winy 
\Vave-engraven  sycamores." 

— A  Dream  of  A  utumn. 


i6o 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


took  it  up,  and  pitched  into  me  unjusti- 
fiably." 

"Couldn't  you  explain?" 

"They  wouldn't  let  me  explain.  I  lost 
my  position  on  the  paper,  because  I  had 
let  a  rival  paper  have  'the  discovery'! 
Everybody  insisted  I  was  trying  to  attract 
attention,  but  that  wasn't  true.  I  simply 
wanted  to  make  my  critic  acknowledge, 
by  the  ruse,  that  I  could  write  perfect  verse, 
so  far  as  his  critical  (?)  judgment  compre- 
hended. The  whole  matter  began  as  a 
thoughtless  joke,  and  ended  in  being  one  of 
the  most  unpleasant  experiencesof  my  life." 

"  Well,  you  carried  your  point,  anyway. 
There's  a  melancholy  sort  of  pleasure  in 
doing  that." 

Riley  didn't  seem  to  take  even  that 
pleasure  in  it. 

"In  this  dark  time,  just  when  I  didn't 
know  which  way  to  turn — friends  all  drop- 
ping away — I  got  a  letter  from  Judge 
Martindale  of  the  '  Indianapolis  Journal,' 
saying,  'Come  over  and  take  a  regular 
place  on  the  "  Journal,"  and  get  pay  for 
your  work.'" 

"  That  was  a  timely  piece  of  kindness 
on  his  part." 

''It  put  me  really  on  my  feet.  And  just 
about  this  time,  too,  I  got  a  letter  from 
Longfellow,  concerning  some  verses  that  I 
had  the  'nerve'  to  ask  him  to  examine,  in 
which  he  said  the  verses  showed  '  the  true 
poetic  faculty  and  insight.'  This  was  high 
praise  to  me  then,  and  I  went  on  writing 
with  more  confidence  and  ambition  ever 
after." 

"  What  did  you  send  to  him  ?" 

"  I  don't  remember  exactly — some  of 
my  serious  work.  Yes,  one  of  the  things 
was  '  The  Iron  Horse.' "  He  quoted  this  : 

"  No  song  is  mine  of  Arab  steed — 
My  courser  is  of  nobler  blood 
And  cleaner  limb  and  fleeter  speed 
And  greater  strength  and  hardihood 
Than  ever  cantered  wild  and  free 
Across  the  plains  of  Araby." 

"  How  did  Judge  Martindale  come  to 
make  that  generous  offer  ?  Had  you  been 
contributing  to  the  '  Journal  '  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  for  quite  a  while.  One  of  the 
things  I  had  just  sent  him  was  the  Christ- 
mas story,  '  The  Boss  Girl,'  a  newsboy's 
story.  He  didn't  know,  of  course,  that  I 
was  in  trouble  when  he  made  the  offer,  but 
he  stood  by  me  afterwards,  and  all  came 
right." 

"  What  did  you  do  on  the  '  Journal '  ? " 

"  I  was  a  sort  o'  free-lance — could  do 
anything  I  wanted  to.  Just  about  this 


time  I  began  a  series  of  '  Benjamin  F. 
Johnson  '  poems.  They  all  appeared  with 
editorial  comment,  as  if  they  came  from 
an  old  Hoosier  farmer  of  Boone  County. 
They  were  so  well  received  that  I  gath- 
ered them  together  in  a  little  parchment 
volume,  which  I  called  '  The  Old  Swim- 
min'  Hole  and  'Leven  More  Poems,'  my 
first  book." 

"I  suppose  you  put  forth  that  volume 
with  great  timidity  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  argued  it  couldn't  break  me, 
so  I  printed  a  thousand  copies— hired  'em 
dojie,  of  course,  at  my  own  expense." 

"  Did  you  sell  'em  ?" 

"  They  sold  themselves.  I  had  the  ten- 
bushel  box  of  'em  down  in  the  'Journal' 
office,  and  it  bothered  me  nearly  to  death 
to  attend  to  the  mailing  of  them.  So 
when  Bowen  &  Merrill  agreed  to  take  the 
book  off  my  hands,  I  gladly  consented, 
and  that's  the  way  I  began  with  them." 

"  It  was  that  little  book  that  first  made 
me  acquainted  with  your  name,"  I  said. 
"  My  friend  and  your  friend,  Charles  E. 
Hurd,  of  the  'Boston  Transcript,'  one  day 
read  me  the  poem  '  William  Leachman,' 
which  he  liked  exceedingly,  and  ended  by 
giving  me  a  copy  of  the  book.  I  saw  at 
once  you  had  taken  up  the  rural  life,  and 
carried  it  beyond  Whittier  and  Lowell  in 
respect  of  making  it  dramatic.  You  gave 
the  farmer's  point  of  view." 

"  I've  tried  to.  But  people  oughtn't  to 
get  twisted  up  on  my  things  the  way  they 
do.  I've  written  dialect  in  two  ways. 
One,  as  the  modern  man,  bringing  all  the 
art  he  can  to  represent  the  way  some  other 
fellow  thinks  and  speaks;  but  the  'John- 
son' poems  are  intended  to  be  like  the  old 
man's  written  poems,  because  he  is  sup- 
posed to  have  sent  them  in  to  the  paper 
himself.  They  are  representations  of 
written  dialect,  while  the  others  are  repre- 
sentations of  dialect  as  manipulated  by 
the  artist.  But,  in  either  case,  it's  the 
other  fellow  doin'  it.  I  don't  try  to  treat 
of  people  as  they  ought  to  think  and  speak, 
but  as  they  do  think  and  speak.  In  other 
words,  I  do  not  undertake  to  edit  nature, 
either  physical  or  human." 

"  I  see  your  point,  but  I  don't  know  that 
I  would  have  done  so  without  having  read 
'The  Old  Swimmin'  Hole,'  and  the  'Tale 
of  the  Airly  Days.'  " 

I  quoted  here  those  lines  I  always  found 
so  meaningful  : 

"  Tell  of  the  things  just  like  they  was,    • 

They  don't  need  no  excuse. 
Don't  tech  'em  up  as  the  poets  does, 
Till  they're  all  too  fine  for  use  !  " 


JAMES   WHITCOMB  RILEY—  HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


161 


\ 


Wko^yVUv^ 

"*3^ 


i         «r~* 


FACSIMILE   OF   AN    AUTOGRAPH    POEM    BY    MR.    RILEY. 


Riley  rose  to  his  feet,  and  walked  about 
the  room.  "  I  don't  believe  in  dressing  up 
nature.  Nature  is  good  enough  for  God, 
it's  good  enough  for  me.  I  see  Old  Man 
Johnson,  a  living  figure.  I  know  what  the 
old  feller  has  read.  I'd  like  to  have  his 
picture  drawn,  because  I  love  the  old  cod- 
ger,  but  I  can't  get  artists  to  see  that  I'm 
not  making  fun  of  him.  They  seem  to 
think  that  if  a  man  is  out  o'  plumb  in  his 
language  he  must  be  likewise  in  his  morals." 

I  flung  my  hand-grenade  :  "  That's  a 
relic  of  the  old  school,  the  school  of  cari- 
cature  —  a  school  that  assumes  that  if  a 
man  has  a  bulbous  nose  he  necessarily  has 
a  bulbous  intellect  ;  which  doesn't  follow. 
I've  known  men  with  bulbous  noses  who 
were  neither  hard  drinkers  nor  queer  in 
any  other  particular,  having  a  fine,  digni- 
fied  speech  and  clear,  candid  eyes." 


"  Now,  old  Benjamin  looks  queer,  I'll 
admit.  His  clothes  don't  fit  him.  He's 
bent  and  awkward.  But  that  don't  pre- 
vent  him  from  having  a  fine  head  and 
deep  and  tender  eyes,  and  a  soul  in  him 
you  can  recommend." 

Riley  paused,  and  looked  down  at  me 
with  a  strange  smile.  "  I  tell  you,  the 
crude  man  is  generally  moral,  for  Nature 
has  just  let  go  his  hand.  She's  just  been 
leading  him  through  the  dead  leaves  and 
the  daisies.  When  I  deal  with  such  a 
man  I  give  him  credit  for  every  virtue  ; 
but  what  he  does,  and  the  way  he  does  it, 
is  his  action  and  not  mine." 

He  read  at  this  point,  with  that  quaint 
arching  of  one  eyebrow,  and  the  twist 
at  the  side  of  the  mouth  with  which  he 
always  represents  "  Benjamin  F.  John- 
son  "  : 


162 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


"  '  My  Religen  is  to  jest 
Do  by  all  my  level  best, 
Feelin'  God'll  do  the  rest. — 

Facts  is,  fur  as  /  can  see, 

The  good  Bein',  makin'  me, 

'LI  make  me  what  I  ort  to  be." — 

And  that's  the  lovely  Old  Man  John- 
son talkin',  and  not  me — but  I'm  listenin' 
to  him,  understand,  yes,  and  keepin' 
still  !  " 

The  tender  side  of  the  poet  came  out 
here,  and  I  said  :  "  I  had  a  talk  with  your 
father  yesterday,  and  I  find  that  we're  in 
harmony  on  a  good  many  reform  topics. 
He's  a  Populist  and  a  Greenbacker.  Do 
you  have  any  reform  leanings?" 

"  Father  is  a  thinker,  and  ain't  afraid 
of  his  thinkin'  machine.  I'm  turned  away 
from  reform  because  it's  no  use.  We've 
got  to  fvnform,  not  reform,  in  our  attitude 
with  the  world  and  man.  Try  reforming 
and  sooner  or  later  you've  got  to  quit, 
because  it's  always  a  question  of  politics. 
You  start  off  with  a  reform  idea,  that  is,  a 
moral  proposition.  You  end  up  by  doing 
something  politic.  It's  in  the  nature  of 
things.  You  can,  possibly,  reform  just 
one  individual,  but  you  can't  reform  the 
world  at  large.  It  won't  work." 

"  All  reforms,  in  your  mind,  are  appar- 
ently hopeless,  and  yet,  as  a  matter  of 
.fact,  the  great  aggregate  conforms  to  a 
few  men  every  quarter  of  a  century." 

This  staggered  Riley,  and  he  looked  at 
me  rather  helplessly.  "Well,  it's  an  un- 
pleasant thing,  anyhow,  and  I  keep  away 
from  it.  I'm  no  fighter.  In  my  own  kind 
of  work  I  can  do  good,  and  make  life 
pleasant." 

He  was  speaking  from  the  heart.  I 
changed  the  subject  by  looking  about  the 
room.  "  You  don't  read  much,  I  im- 
agine ? " 

He  turned  another  quizzical  look  on 
me.  "  I'm  afraid  to  read  much,  I'm  so 
blamed  imitative.  But  I  read  a  good 
deal  of  chop-feed  fiction,  and  browse  with 
relish  through  the  short  stories  and  poems 
of  to-day.  But  I  have  no  place  to  put 
books.  Have  to  do  my  own  things  where 
I  catch  time  and  opportunity." 

"  Well,  if  you'd  had  a  library,  you 
wouldn't  have  got  so  many  people  into 
your  poems.  You  remind  me  of  Whit- 
man's poet,  you  tramp  a  perpetual  journey. 
Where  do  you  think  you  get  your  verse- 
writing  from  ?" 

"  Mainly  from  my  mother's  family,  the 
Marines.  A  characteristic  of  the  whole 
family  is  their  ability  to  write  rhymes,  but 
all  unambitiously.  They  write  rhymed 


letters  to  each  other,  and  joke  and  jim- 
crow  with  the  Muses." 

"Riley,  I  want  to  ask  you.  Your  father 
is  Irish,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Both  yes  and  no.  His  characteristics 
are  strongly  Irish,  but  he  was  born  a  Penn- 
sylvania Dutchman,  and  spoke  the  Ger- 
man dialect  before  he  spoke  English.  It 
has  been  held  that  the  name  Riley  proba- 
bly comes  from  'Ryland,'  but  there's  an 
'  O'Reilly '  theory  I  muse  over  very  pleas- 
antly." 

I  saw  he  was  getting  tired  of  indoors, 
so  I  rose.  "Well,  now,  where's  the  old 
swimmin'  hole  ?  " 

His  face  lighted  up  with  a  charming, 
almost  boyish,  smile.  "  The  old  svvim- 
min'  hole  is  right  down  here  on  Brandy- 
wine — the  old  '  crick,'  just  at  the  edge  of 
town." 

"  Put  on  your  hat,  and  let's  go  down  and 
find  it." 

We  took  our  way  down  the  main  street 
and  the  immensely  dusty  road  towards  the 
east.  The  locusts  quavered  in  duo  and 
trio  in  the  ironweeds,  and  were  answered 
by  others  in  the  high  sycamores.  Large 
yellow  and  black  butterflies  flapped  about 
from  weed  to  weed.  The  gentle  wind 
came  over  the  orchards  and  cornfields, 
filled  with  the  fragrance  of  gardens  and 
groves.  The  road  took  a  little  dip  to- 
wards the  creek,  which  was  low,  and  almost 
hidden  among  the  weeds. 

Riley  paused.  "  I  haven't  been  to  the 
old  swimmin'  hole  for  sixteen  years.  We 
used  to  go  across  there  through  the  grass, 
all  except  the  feller  with  the  busted  toe- 
nail.  He  had  to  go  round."  He  pointed 
at  the  print  of  bare,  graceful  feet  in  the 
dust,  and  said  : 

"  We  could  tell,  by  the  dent  of  the  heel  and  the  sole, 
There  was  lots  of  fun  on  hand  at  the  old  swimmin' 
hole." 

As  we  looked  out  on  the  hot  midsum- 
mer landscape,  Riley  quoted  again,  from 
a  poem  in  his  then  forthcoming  book — a 
poem  which  he  regards  as  one  of  his  best  : 

"  The  air  and  the  sun  and  the  shadows 

Were  wedded  and  made  as  one, 
And  the  winds  ran  o'er  the  meadows 
As  little  children  run  : 

"  And  the  wind  flowed  over  the  meadows, 

And  along  the  willowy  way 
The  river  ran,  with  its  ripples  shod 
With  the  sunshine  of  the  day  : 

"  O,  the  winds  poured  over  the  meadows 

In  a  tide  of  eddies  and  calms, 
And  the  bared  brow  felt  the  touch  of  it 
As  a  sweetheart's  tender  palms. 


JAMES    IVHITCOMB  RILEY— HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


163 


"  And  up  through  the  rifted  tree-tops 

That  signalled  the  wayward  breeze 
I  saw  the  hulk  of  the  hawk  becalmed 
Far  out  on  the  azure  seas." 

Riley  recited  this  with  great  beauty  of 
tone  and  rhythm — such  as  audiences  never 
hear  from  him,  hearing  only  his  dialect. 

As  we  walked  on  we  heard  shouts,  and 
I  plucked  Riley's  sleeve  :  "  Hear  that  ?  If 
that  isn't  the  cry  of  a  swimming  boy,  then 
my  experiences  are  of  no  value.  A  boy 
has  a  shout  which  he  uses  only  when  splash- 
ing about  in  a  pond." 

Riley's  face  glowed.  "  That's  right, 
they're  there — just  as  we  used  to  be." 

After  climbing  innumerable  fences,  we 
came  upon  the  boys  under  the  shade  of  the 
giant  sycamore  and  green  thorn-trees. 
The  boys  jiggled  themselves  into  their 
clothes,  and  ran  off  in  alarm  at  the  two 
staid  and  dignified  men,  who  none  the  less 
had  for  them  a  tender  and  reminiscent 
sympathy. 

All  about  splendid  elm-trees  stood,  and 
stately  green  thorn-trees  flung  their  deli- 
cate, fern-like  foliage^  athwart  the  gray 
and  white  spotted  boles  of  tall,  leaning 
sycamores.  But  the  creek  was  very  low, 
by  reason  of  the  dry  weather. 

We  threaded  our  way  about,  seeking  out 
old  paths  and  stumps  and  tree  trunks, 


which  sixteen  years  of  absence  had  not 
entirely  swept  from  the  poet's  mind.  Then, 
at  last,  we  turned  homeward  over  the  rail- 
road track,  through  the  dusty  little  town. 
People  were  seated  in  their  little  back- 
yards here  and  there  eating  watermelon, 
and  Neighbor  Johnson's  poem  on  the 
"  Wortermelon  "  came  up  : 

"  Oh,  wortermelon  time  is  a-comin'  'round  agin, 
And  they  ain't  no  feller  livin'  any  tickleder'n  me." 

We  passed  by  the  old  court-house,  where 
Captain  Riley,  the  poet's  father,  has  prac- 
tised law  for  fifty  years.  The  captain  lives 
near,  in  an  odd-looking  house  of  brick,  its 
turret  showing  above  the  trees.  On  the 
main  street  groups  of  men  of  all  ranks  and 
stations  were  sitting  or  standing,  and  they 
all  greeted  the  poet  as  he  passed  by  with 
an  off-hand  :  "How  are  ye,  Jim?"  to  which 
the  poet  replied  :  "  How  are  you,  Tom  ? " 
or  "  How  are  you,  Jack  ?  How's  the 
folks  ? "  Personally,  his  townsmen  like 
him.  They  begin  to  respect  him  also  in 
another  way,  so  successful  has  he  become 
in  a  way  measurable  to  them  all. 

Back  at  the  house,  we  sat  at  lunch  of 
cake  and  watermelon,  the  sisters,  Mrs. 
Payne  and  Mrs.  Eitels,  serving  as  host- 
esses most  delightfully.  They  had  left 


MR.    GARLAND    TAKES   NOTES    WHILE   THE    "HOOS1ER"    POET   TALKS. 


164 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


their  own  homes  in  Indianapolis  for  the 
summer,  to  give  this  added  pleasure  to 
their  poet  brother.  They  both  have  much 
of  his  felicity  of  phrase,  and  much  the 
same  gentleness  and  sweetness  of  bearing. 
The  hour  was  a  pleasant  one,  and  brought 
out  the  simple,  domestic  side  of  the  man's 
nature.  The  sisters,  while  they  showed 
their  admiration  and  love  for  him,  ad- 
dressed him  without  a  particle  of  affecta- 
tion. 

There  is  no  mysterious  abyss  between 
Mr.  Riley  and  his  family.  They  are  well- 
to-do,  middle-conditioned  Americans,  with 
unusual  intellectual  power  and  marked 
poetic  sensibility.  Mr.  Riley  is  a  logical 
result  of  a  union  of  two  gifted  families,  a 
product  of  hereditary  power,  cooperating 
with  the  power  of  an  ordinary  Western 
town.  Born  of  a  gentle  and  naturally 
poetic  mother,  and  a  fearless,  uncon- 
ventional father  (lawyer  and  orator),  he 
has  lived  the  life  common  to  boys  of  vil- 
lages from  Pennsylvania  to  Dakota,  and 
upon  this  were  added  the  experiences  he 
has  herein  related. 

It  is  impossible  to  represent  his  talk  that 
night.  For  two  hours  he  ran  on — he  the 
talker,  the  rest  of  us  the  irritating  cause. 


The  most  quaintly  wise  sentences  fell  from 
his  lips  in  words  no  other  could  have  used  ; 
scraps  of  verse,  poetic  images,  humorous 
assumptions  of  character,  daring  figures  of 
speech — I  gave  up  in  despair  of  ever  get- 
ting him  down  on  paper.  He  read,  at  my 
request,  some  of  his  most  beautiful  things. 
He  talked  on  religion,  and  his  voice  grew 
deep  and  earnest. 

"  I  believe  a  man  prays  when  he  does 
well,"  he  said.  "I  believe  he  worships 
God  when  his  work  is  on  a  high  plane  ; 
when  his  attitude  towards  his  fellow-men 
is  right,  I  guess  God  is  pleased  with 
him-" 

I  said  good-night,  and  went  off  down  the 
street,  musing  upon  the  man  and  his  work. 
Genius,  as  we  call  it,  defies  conditions.  It 
knows  no  barriers.  It  finds  in  things  close 
at  hand  the  most  inexhaustible  storehouse. 
All  depends  upon  the  poet,  not  upon  ma- 
terials. It  is  his  love  for  the  thing,  his 
interest  in  the  fact,  his  distribution  of 
values,  his  selection  of  details,  which  makes 
his  work  irresistibly  comic  or  tender  or 
pathetic. 

No  poet  in  the  United  States  has  the 
same  hold  upon  the  minds  of  the  people 
as  Riley.  He  is  the  poet  of  the  plain 


VIEW    OF   GREENFIELD    FROM    "IRVING'S   SPRING,"    BRANDYWINE. 

"  Whilse  the  old  town,  fur  away 
'Crost  the  hazy  pastur-land, 
Dozed-like  in  the  heat  o'  day 
Peaceful  as  a  hired  hand." 

—  Up  and  Down  Old  Brandyvntu 


A   MORNING    WITH  BRET  HARTE. 


'65 


American.  They  bought  thirty  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  his  verse  last  year  ;  and 
he  is  also  one  of  the  most  successful  lec- 
turers on  the  platform.  He  gives  the  lie 
to  the  old  saying,  for  he  is  a  prophet  in 
his  own  country.  The  people  of  Indiana 
are  justly  proud  of  him,  for  he  has  written 
"  Poems  Here  at  Home."  He  is  read  by 
people  who  never  before  read  poetry  in 
their  lives,  and  he  appeals  equally  well  to 
the  man  who  is  heart-sick  of  the  hollow 
conventional  verse  in  imitation  of  some 
classic. 

He  is  absolutely  American  in  every  line 
he  writes.  His  schooling  has  been  in  the 
school  of  realities.  He  takes  things  at 
first-hand.  He  considers  his  success  to  be 
due  to  the  fact  that  he  is  one  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  has  written  of  the  things  he  liked 
and  they  liked.  The  time  will  come  when 
his  work  will  be  seen  to  be  something  more 
than  the  fancies  of  a  humorist. 

As  I  walked  on  down  the  street,  it  all 
came  upon  me  with  great  power — this  pro- 
duction of  an  American  poet.  Everything 
was  familiar  to  me.  All  this  life,  the 
broad  streets  laid  off  in  squares,  the  little 
cottages,  the  weedy  gardens,  the  dusty 


fruit-trees,  the  young  people  sauntering  in 
couples  up  and  down  the  sidewalk,  the 
snapping  of  jack-knives,  and  the  low  hum 
of  talk  from  scattered  groups.  This  was 
Riley's  school.  This  was  his  material, 
apparently  barren,  dry,  utterly  hopeless  in 
the  eyes  of  the  romantic  writers  of  the 
East,  and  yet  capable  of  becoming  world- 
famous  when  dominated  and  mastered  and 
transformed  as  it  has  been  mastered  and 
transformed  by  this  poet  of  the  people. 

In  my  estimation,  this  man  is  the  most 
remarkable  exemplification  of  the  power 
of  genius  to  transmute  plain  clods  into 
gold  that  we  have  seen  since  the  time  of 
Burns.  He  has  dominated  stern  and  un- 
yielding conditions  with  equal  success,  and 
reflected  the  life  of  his  kind  with  greater 
fidelity  than  Burns. 

This  material,  so  apparently  grim  and 
barren  of  light  and  shade,  waited  only  for 
a  creative  mind  and  a  sympathetic  intelli- 
gence ;  then  it  grew  beautiful  and  musi- 
cal, and  radiant  with  color  and  light  and 
life. 

Therein  is  the  magnificent  lesson  to 
be  drawn  from  the  life  and  work  of  the 
"  Hoosier  poet." 


A  MORNING  WITH  BRET  HARTE. 


BY   HENRY  J.   W.  DAM. 


F  I  had  been  an  artist  I  should  have 
painted  them,"  he  says,  referring  to 
John  Oakhurst  and  M'liss  and  Tennessee's 
Partner  and  all  the  other  denizens  of  that 
strange  literary  land  which  he  was  the  first 
to  discover  and  describe  to  all  the  world. 
"  If  I  had  been  an  artist  "  is  his  phrase, 
and  it  sounds  strange  from  his  lips,  for 
a  more  artistic  personality,  in  thought, 
speech,  sympathies,  and  methods,  was  never 
numbered  among  the  creators  of  character 
or  the  observers  of  nature  than  that  of  the 
historian  of  the  Golden  Age  of  California, 
Mr.  Bret  Harte. 

It  is  one  of  those  winter  mornings  in 
London  when  upon  parks  and  lawns  and 
all  the  architectural  distances  the  cold 
gray  mist  lies  heavily.  The  sun,  a  pre- 
posterous ruby  set  in  fog,  looms  red  and 
high.  Through  the  study  window  its  radi- 
ance comes  balefully,  as  if  fleeingthe  dreari- 
ness of  streets  that  stretch  silent  and  de- 
serted under  London's  Sabbath  spell. 
Within  the  room,  however,  all  is  cheerful- 


ness and  warmth.  The  heaped-up  coals 
make  flickering  traceries  of  shadow  over 
walls  covered  with  the  originals  of  pict- 
ures and  engravings  which  all  the  world 
has  seen  in  certain  famous  books.  Some 
of  these  originals  will  be  found  among 
the  illustrations  of  this  article,  and  are 
interesting  exhibitions  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  English  imagination  endeavors 
to  conceive  the  unfamiliar  California  types. 
The  sides  of  the  room  are  given  up  to 
high  book-shelves.  Bric-a-brac  meets  the 
eye  in  all  directions,  the  mantel  being  cov- 
ered with  pretty  souvenirs  of  continental 
watering-places,  those  guide-posts  on  the 
highway  of  memory  by  which  charming 
acquaintances  are  recalled  and  favorite 
spots  revisited.' 

BRET  HARTE    IN    PERSON. 

At  the  desk,  surrounded  by  an  incalcu- 
lable visitation  of  Christmas  cards,  sits 
Bret  Harte,  the  Bret  Harte  of  actuality,  a 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BRET    HARTE,    FROM   A    PAINTING    BY    JOHN    PETTIE,    R.A.      REPRODUCED    BV  THE    KIND     PERMISSION 
OF   THE    FINK  ARTS   SOCIETY,    LONDON.      PHOTOGRAPHED    BY    FRADELLE   &   YOUNG,    LONDON. 


gentleman  as  far  removed  from  the  Bret 
Harte  of  popular  fancy  as  is  the  St.  James 
Club  from  Mount  Shasta,  or  a  Savoy  Hotel 
supper  from  the  cinder  cuisine  of  a  mining 
camp  in  the  glorious  days  of  '49.  Instead 
of  being,  as  the  reader  usually  conceives, 
one  of  the  long-bearded,  loose-jointed 
heroes  of  his  Western  Walhalla,  he  is  a 
polished  gentleman  of  medium  height,  with 
a  curling  gray  mustache.  In  lieu  of  the 
recklessness  of  Western  methods  in  dress, 
his  attire  exhibits  a  nicety  of  detail  which, 
in  a  man  whose  dignity  and  sincerity  were 


less  impressive,  would  seem  foppish.  This 
quality,  like  his  handwriting  and  other 
characteristic  trifles,  perceptibly  assists 
one  in  grasping  the  main  elements  of  a 
personality  which  is  as  harmonious  as  it 
is  peculiar,  and  as  unconventional  as  it  is 
sensitive  to  fine  shades,  of  whatever  kind 
they  be.  Over  his  cigar,  with  a  gentle 
play  of  humor  and  a  variety  of  unconscious 
gestures  which  are  always  graceful  and 
never  twice  the  same,  he  touches  upon  this 
very  subject — the  impressions  made  upon 
him  by  his  first  sight  of  gold-hunting  in 


A  MORNING    WITH  BRET  HARTE. 


167 


BRET  HARTE  IN  1869,  WHILE  EDITOR  OF  THE  "OVERLAND 
MONTHLY."  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  LOANED  BY  THE 
PRESENT  PUBLISHERS  OF  THE  "  OVERLAND  MONTHLY." 

California,  and  the  eye  and  mind  which  he 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  novel  scene. 

BRET  HARTE'S  STORY  OF  HIS  LIFE  IN 
CALIFORNIA. 

"  I  left  New  York  for  California,"  says 
Mr.  Harte,  "  when  I  was  scarcely  more 
than  a  boy,  with  no  better  equipment,  I 
fear,  than  an  imagination  which  had  been 
expanded  by  reading  Froissart's  '  Chroni- 
cles of  the  Middle  Ages,'  '  Don  Quixote,' 
the  story  of  the  Argonauts,  and  other 
books  from  the  shelves  of  my  father,  who 
was  a  tutor  of  Greek.  I  went  by  way  of 
Panama,  and  was  at  work  for  a  few  months 
in  San  Francisco  in  the  spring  of  1853,  but 
felt  no  satisfaction  with  my  surroundings 
until  I  reached  the  gold  country,  my  par- 
ticular choice  being  Sonora,  in  Calaveras 
County. 

"  Here  I  was  thrown  among  the  strangest 
social  conditions  that  the  latter-day  world 
has  perhaps  seen.  The  setting  was  itself 
heroic.  The  great  mountains  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada  lifted  majestic  snow-capped  peaks 
against  a  sky  of  purest  blue.  Magnificent 
pine  forests  of  trees  which  were  themselves 
enormous,  gave  to  the  landscape  a  sense  of 
largeness  and  greatness.  It  was  a  land 
of  rugged  canons,  sharp  declivities,  and 
magnificent  distances.  Amid  rushing  wa- 


ters and  wild-wood  freedom,  an  army  of 
strong  men  in  red  shirts  and  top  boots 
were  feverishly  in  search  of  the  buried  gold 
of  earth.  Nobody  shaved,  and  hair,  mus- 
taches, and  beards  were  untouched  by 
shears  or  razor.  Weaklings  and  old  men 
were  unknown.  It  took  a  stout  heart  and 
a  strong  frame  to  dare  the  venture,  to 
brave  the  journey  of  three  thousand  miles, 
and  battle  for  life  in  the  wilds.  It  was  a 
civilization  composed  entirely  of  young 
men,  for  on  one  occasion,  I  remember,  an 
elderly  man — he  was  fifty,  perhaps,  but  he 
had  a  gray  beard — was  pointed  out  as  a 
curiosity  in  the  city,  and  men  turned  in 
the  street  to  look  at  him  as  they  would 
have  looked  at  any  other  unfamiliar  ob- 
ject. 

"  These  men,  generally  speaking,  were 
highly  civilized,  many  of  them  being  cul- 
tured and  professionally  trained.  They 
were  in  strange  and  strong  contrast  with 
their  surroundings,  for  all  the  trammels 
and  conventionalities  of  settled  civilization 
had  been  left  thousands  of  miles  behind. 
It  was  a  land  of  perfect  freedom,  limited 
only  by  the  instinct  and  the  habit  of  law 
which  prevailed  in  the  mass.  All  its 
forms  were  original,  rude,  and  picturesque. 
Woman  was  almost  unknown,  and  enjoyed 
the  high  estimation  of  a  rarity.  The  chiv- 


BRET  HARTE  IN  1871.  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  TAKEN  BY  SARONY, 
NEW  YORK,  SHORTLY  AFTER  THE  PUBLICATION  OF  "  THB 
HEATHEN  CHINEE." 


i68 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


airy  natural- to  manhood  invested  her  with 
ideal  value  when  respect  could  supplement 
it,  and  with  exceptional  value  even  when 
it  could  not.  Strong  passions  brought 
quick  climaxes,  all  the  better  and  worse 
forces  of  manhood  being  in  unbridled  play. 
To  me  it  was  like  a  strange,  ever-varying 
panorama,  so  novel  that  it  was  difficult  to 
grasp  comprehensively.  In  fact,  it  was  not 
till  years  afterwards  that  the  great  mass  of 
primary  impressions  on  my  mind  became 
sufficiently  clarified  for  literary  use. 

"  The  changes  of  scene  were  constant 
and  unexpected.  Here  is  one  that  I  re- 
member very  well.  Clothing  was  hard  to 
get  in  the  early  days,  and  everything  that 
could  serve  was  made  use  of.  Our  valley, 
in  its  ordinary  aspect,  had  as  many  '  spring 
styles  for  gentle- 
men'as  there  were 
men  to  be  seen. 
One  hot  summer 
morning,  how- 
ever, the  old  order 
changed.  A  large 
consignment  of 
condemned  navy 
outfits,  purchased 
by  a  local  store- 
keeper, had  found 
ready  sale,  and  the 
result  was  that  the 
valley  was  filled 
with  men,  hard  at 
work  over  their 
claims,  and  all 
dressed  in  white 
'  jumpers,'  white 
duck  trousers,  and 
top  boots.  On 
their  heads  were 
yellow  straw  hats, 
and  around  their 
shoulders  gaudy 
bandanna  hand- 
kerchiefs of  yel- 
low, blue,  red,  and 
green  patterns. 
Perspiration  was 
so  profuse  in  the 
hot  weather  that  a 
handkerchief  was 
as  necessary  to  a 
miner  as  a  whiskey 
flask  or  a  revol- 
ver. They  wore 
them  clung  loose- 
ly around  their 
necks  and  falling 
over  their  chests, 
like  the  collar  of 


BRET  HARTE  IN  1871.   FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  BY  SARONY,  NEW  YORK. 


some  extraordinary  order,  and  each  man 
as  he  worked  would  now  and  then  dab  his 
forehead  with  the  handkerchief  and  push 
it  a  little  farther  round.  The  white  clothes 
and  bright  handkerchiefs  against  the  wild 
background  made  a  very  novel  picture, 
and  I  said  something  to  this  effect  to  a 
miner  by  my  side.  He  took  a  look  down 
the  valley,  the  standpoint  being  one  that 
had  not  occurred  to  him,  and  said  :  '  It 
does  look  kinder  nice.  Didn't  know  we 
gave  ourselves  away  like  that,'  and  sham- 
bled down  the  trail  with  a  chuckle.  Every 
day  brought  new  scenes  and  new  experi- 
ences, though  I  did  not  commit  them  to 
paper  till  many  years  afterward." 

MINER,  EXPRESS  MESSENGER,  SCHOOLMASTER, 

EDITOR. 


"  And  were  you 
taking  notes  for 
future  literary 
work  at  this  pe- 
riod ? " 

"  Not  at  all.  I 
had  not  the  least 
idea  at  this  time 
that  any  portion 
of  literary  fame 
awaited  me.  I 
lived  their  life,  un- 
thinking. I  took 
my  pick  and  shov- 
el,  and  asked 
where  I  might  dig. 
They  said  'Any- 
where,' and  it  was 
true  that  you 
could  get  'color,' 
that  is,  a  few 
grains  of  gold, 
from  any  of  the 
surface  earth  with 
which  you  chose 
to  fill  your  pan. 
In  an  ordinary 
day's  work  you 
got  enough  to  live 
on,  or,  as  it  was 
called,  'grub 
wages.'  I  was  not 
a  success  as  a 
gold-digger,  and 
it  was  conceived 
that  I  would  an- 
swer for  a  Wells 
Fargo  messenger. 
A  Wells  Fargo 
messenger  was  a 
person  who  sat 


A    MORNING    WITH  BRET  HARTE. 


169 


beside  the  driver  on  the  box-seat  of  a 
stage-coach,  in  charge  of  the  letters  and 
'  treasure '  which  the  Wells  Fargo  Ex- 
press Company  took  from  a  mining  camp 
to  the  nearest  town  or  city.  Stage  rob- 
bers were  plentiful.  My  predecessor  in 
the  position  had  been  shot  through  the 
arm,  and  my  successor  was  killed.  I 
held  the  post  for  some  months,  and  then 
gave  it  up  to  become  the  schoolmaster 
near  Sonora — Sonora  having  by  immigra- 
tion attained  the  size  and  population  which 
called  for  a  school.  For  several  years  after 
this  I  wandered  about  California  from  city 
to  camp,  and  camp  to  city,  without  any 
special  purpose.  I  became  an  editor,  and 
learned  to  set  type,  the  ability  to  earn  my 
own  living  as  a  printer  being  a  source  of 
great  satisfaction  to  me,  for,  strange  to  say, 
I  had  no  confidence,  until  long  after  that 
period,  in  literature  as  a  means  of  liveli- 
hood. I  have  never  in  my  life  had  an  arti- 
cle refused  publication,  and  yet  I  never  had 
any  of  that  confidence  which,  in  the  case 
of  many  others,  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
impaired  by  repeated  refusals.  Nearly  all 
my  life  I  have  held  some  political  or  edi- 
torial post,  upon  which  I  relied  for  an 
income.  This  has,  no  doubt,  affected  my 
work,  since  it  gave  me  more  liberty  to  write 
as  pleased  myself,  instead  of  endeavoring 
to  write  for  a  purpose,  or  in  accordance 
with  the  views  of  somebody  else. 

"  A  great  part  of  this  distrust  of  lit- 
erature as  a  profession  arose,  1  think," 
continues  Mr.  Harte,  and  he  smiles  at 
the  reminiscence,  "from  my  first  literary 
effort.  It  was  a  poem  called  'Autumn 
Musings.'  It  was  written  at  the  mature 
age  of  eleven.  It  was  satirical  in  char- 
acter, and  cast  upon  the  fading  year  the 
cynical  light  of  my  repressed  dissatis- 
faction with  things  in  general.  I  ad- 
dressed the  envelope  to  the  New  York 
'  Sunday  Atlas,'  at  that  time  a  journal 
of  some  literary  repute  in  New  York, 
where  I  was  then  living.  I  was  not 
quite  certain  how  the  family  would  re- 
gard this  venture  on  my  part,  and  I 
posted  the  missive  with  the  utmost 
secresy.  After  that  I  waited  for  over 
a  week  in  a  state  of  suspense  that  en- 
tirely absorbed  me.  Sunday  came,  and 
with  it  the  newspapers.  These  were 
displayed  on  a  stand  in  the  street  near 
our  house,  and  held  in  their  places — 
I  shall  never  forget  them — with  stones. 
With  an  unmoved  face,  but  a  beating 
heart,  I  scanned  the  topmost  copy  of 
the  '  Atlas.'  To  my  dying  day  I  shall 
remember  the  thrill  that  came  from  see- 


ing '  Autumn  Musings,'  a  poem,  on  the 
first  page.  I  don't  know  that  the  headline 
type  was  any  longer  than  usual,  but  to  me 
it  was  colossal.  It  had  something  of  the 
tremendousness  of  a  three-sheet  poster. 
I  bought  the  paper  and  took  it  home.  I 
exhibited  it  to  the  family  by  slow  and 
cautious  stages.  My  hopes  sank  lower 
and  lower.  At  last  I  realized  the  enormity 
of  my  offence.  The  lamentation  was  gen- 
eral. It  was  unanimously  conceded  that 
I  was  lost,  and  I  fully  believed  it.  My 
idea  of  a  poet — it  was  the  family's  idea 
also — was  the  Hogarthian  one,  born  of  a 
book  of  Hogarth's  drawings  belonging  to 
my  father.  In  the  lean  and  miserable  and 
helpless  guise  of  'The  Distressed  Poet,' 
as  therein  pictured,  I  saw,  aided  by  the 
family,  my  probable  future.  It  was  a 
terrible  experience.  I  sometimes  won- 
der that  I  ever  wrote  another  line  of 
verse." 

His  natural  tendency  in  that  direction 
was  too  strong  to  be  crushed,  however.  He 
has  always,  he  says,  had  a  weakness  for 
humorous  verse,  and  in  that  particular  di- 
rection his  pen  is  as  playful  as  ever.  All 
of  which  digression  leads  naturally  to 
the  "  Heathen  Chinee,"  concerning  which 
he  has  several  new  facts  to  make  pub- 
lic. 


RET  HARTE.   FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  BY  THOMAS  FALL,  LONDON. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BRET    HARTE   AT   THE    PRESENT   TIME.       FROM   A    PHOTOGRAPH    BY   ELLIOTT  AND    FRY,    LONDON. 


SOME     NEW    FACTS    ABOUT    THE    "  HEATHEN 
CHINEE." 

"  I  was  always  fond  of  satiric  verse,  and 
the  instinct  of  parody  has  always  possessed 
me.  The  '  Heathen  Chinee '  is  an  instance 
of  this,  though  I  don't  think  I  have  told 
anybody,  except  a  well-known  English 
poet,  who  observed  and  taxed  me  with  the 
fact,  the  story  of  its  metrical  origin.  The 
'  Heathen  Chinee '  was  for  a  time  the  best 
known  of  any  of  my  writings.  It  was 
written  for  the  '  Overland  Monthly,'  of 
which  I  was  editor",  with  a  satirical  politi- 
cal purpose,  but  with  no  thought  of  aught 
else  than  its  local  effect.  It  was  born  of  a 
somewhat  absurd  state  of  things  which 
appealed  to  the  humorous  eye.  -The 
thrifty  Oriental,  who  was  invading  Cali- 
fornia in  large  numbers,  was  as  imitative 
as  a  monkey.  He  did  as  the  Caucasian 
did  in  all  respects,  and,  being  more  patient 


and  frugal,  did  it  a  little  better.  From 
placer  mining  to  card  playing  he  industri- 
ously followed  the  example  set  him  by  his 
superiors,  and  took  cheating  at  cards  quite 
seriously,  as  a  valuable  addition  to  the  in- 
teresting game.  He  cheated  admirably,  but, 
instead  of  winning  praises  for  it,  found 
himself,  when  caught  at  it,  abused,  con- 
temned, and  occasionally  mobbed  by  his 
teachers  in  a  way  that  had  not  been  dreamt 
of  in  his  philosophy.  This  point  I  put 
into  verse.  I  heard  nothing  of  it  for  some 
time,  until  a  friend  told  me  it  was  making 
the  rounds  of  the  Eastern  press.  He  him- 
self had  heard  a  New  York  brakeman  re- 
peating : 

*  Yet  he  played  it  that  day  upon  William  and  me  in 
a  way  I  despise.' 

Soon  afterwards  I  began  to  hear  from  it 
frequently  in  a  similar  way.  The  lines 
were  popular.  The  points  seemed  to  catch 


A   MORNING   WITH  ERET  HARTE. 


171 


the  ear  and  hold  the  memory.  I  never  in- 
tended it  as  a  contribution  to  contempo- 
rary poetry,  but  I  doubt,  from  the  evidence 
I  received,  if  I  ever  wrote  anything  more 
catching.  The  verses  had,  however,  the 
dignity  of  a  high  example.  I  have  told 
you  of  the  English  poet  who  was  first  to 
question  me  regarding  the  metre,  and  ap- 
preciate its  Greek  source.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  threnody  in  Swinburne's  '  Atalanta 
in  Calydon  '  ?  It  occurred  to  me  that  the 
grand  and  beautiful  sweep  of  that  chorus 
was  just  the  kind  of  thing  which  Truthful 
James  would  be  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  adopt  in  expressing  his  views.  There- 
fore I  used  it.  Listen,"  and  he  quotes,  mark- 
ing the  accents  with  an  amused  smile  : 

"  'Atalanta,  the  fairest  of  women,  whose  name  is  a 
blessing  to  speak — 

Yet  he  played  it  that  day  upon  William  and  me 
in  a  way  I  despise. 

The  narrowing  Symplegades  whitened  the  straits 
of  Propontis  with  spray — 

And  we  found  on  his   nails,  which  were  taper, 
what's  frequent  in  tapers,  that's  wax.'  " 

He  laughs  over  the  parody  in  metre  and 
goes  on  quoting  ;   and.  as  he  talks  of  his 
verse  and  his  work  in  general,  it  is  evident 
that   the  humorous    is   one    of    his    most 
fully    developed    literary    characteristics. 
He  still  takes  delight  in  the  "  Condensed 
Novels,"  and  is  as  much  in  the  mood  for 
writing  them  to-day,   at  fifty-three,  as  he 
was   twenty   years   ago.    They  belonged, 
it  seems,  to  a  kind  of  chrysalis  period  in 
his  development,  when,  living  in 
San  Francisco,  he  wrote  various- 
ly for  a  number  of  local  literary 
periodicals,    the     most     widely 
known  of  which  was  the  "  Gold- 
en Era."     These    writings,   and 
the     position     which     he     won 
through  them,  led  to  the  editor- 
ship of  the  "  California!!  Week- 
ly," and  finally  of  a  magazine, 
the  "  Overland  Monthly."     The 
latter  was  the  inducing  cause  of 
the  first  of  that  series  of  stories 
which  carried  his  name  all  over 
the  world.     At  the  start  he  was 
most    bitterly    opposed.       The 
first  step  was  the  one  that  cost, 
with  him  as  with  others.     His 
narrative   is  full  of  interest,  as 
a  matter  both  of  personal  and 
of  literary  history. 


EDITORIAL    CAUTION    AND     "  THE    LUCK    OF 
ROARING    CAMP." 

"  I  was  eventually  offered  the  editor- 
ship of  a  new  magazine,  the  '  Overland 
Monthly,'  which  was  about  to  make  its 
first  issue,  and  it  was  through  the  accept- 
ance of  this  post  that  my  career,  generally 
speaking,  began.  As  the  editor  of  this 
magazine,  I  received  for  its  initial  number 
many  contributions  in  the  way  of  stories. 
After  looking  these  over,  it  impressed  me 
as  a  strange  thing  that  not  one  of  the 
writers  had  felt  inspired  to  treat  the  fresh 
subjects  which  lay  ready  to  his  hand  in 
California.  All  the  stories  were  conven- 
tional, the  kind  of  thing  that  would  have 
been  offered  to  an  editor  in  the  Atlantic 
States,  stories  of  those  localities  and  of 
Europe,  in  the  customary  form.  I  talked 
the  matter  over  with  Mr.  Roman,  the  pro- 
prietor, and  then  wrote  a  story  whose  sole 
object  was  to  give  the  first  number  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  local  coloring.  It  was  called 
'  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp.'  It  was  a 


BRET   HARTE    IN    HIS   STUDY. 


172 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MARIE'S  "M'LISS."    FROM  A  PAINTING  BY  EDWIN  LONG.     REPRODUCED  BY  KIND  PERMISSION  OF 
MESSRS.  BROOKS  AND  SONS,  LONDON.    PHOTOGRAPHED  BY  FRADELLE  *  YOUNG,  LONDON. 


single  picture  out  of  the  panorama  which 
had  impressed  me  years  before.  It  was 
put  into  type.  The  proof-reader  and  printer 
declared  it  was  immoral  and  indecent.  I 
read  it  over  again  in  proof,  at  the  request  of 
the  publisher,  and  was  touched,  I  am  afraid, 
only  with  my  own  pathos.  I  read  it  to  my 
wife — I  had  married  in  the  meantime — and 
it  made  her  cry  also.  I  am  told  that  Mr. 
Roman  also  read  it  to  his  wife,  with  the 
same  diabolically  illogical  result.  Never- 
theless, the  opposition  was  unshaken. 

"  I  had  a  serious  talk  with  an  intimate 
friend  of  mine,  then  the  editor  of  the  '  Alta 
California.'  He  was  not  personally  op- 
posed to  the  story,  but  felt  that  that  sort 
of  thing  might  be  injudicious  and  unfavor- 
ably affect  immigration.  I  was  without  a 
sympathizer  or  defender.  Even  Mr.  Roman 
felt  that  it  might  imperil  the  prospects  of 


the  magazine.  I  read  the  story  again, 
thought  the  matter  over,  and  told  Mr.  Ro- 
man that  if  '  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp ' 
was  not  a  good  and  suitable  story  I  was 
not  a  good  and  suitable  editor  for  his  mag- 
azine. I  said  that  the  chief  value  of  an 
editor  lay  in  the  correctness  of  his  judg- 
ment, and  if  his  view  was  the  true  one,  my 
judgment  was  clearly  at  fault.  I  am  quite 
sure  that  if  the  decision  had  been  left  to 
San  Francisco,  the  series  of  mining  pictures 
that  followed  the  first  would  not  have  been 
written — at  least,  not  in  that  city.  But  the 
editor  remained,  and  the  story  appeared. 
It  was  received  harshly.  The  religious 
papers  were  unanimous  in  declaring  it  im- 
moral, and  they  published  columns  in  its 
disfavor.  The  local  press,  reflecting  the 
pride  of  a  young  and  new  community, 
could  not  see  why  stories  should  be  print- 


A   MORNING    WITH  BRET  HARTE. 


173 


ed  by  their  representative  magazine  which 
put  the  community  into  such  unfavorable 
contrast  with  the  effete  civilization  of  the 
East.  They  would  have  none  of  it ! 

"  A  month  later,  however,  by  return  of 
mail  from  Boston,  there  came  an  important 
letter.  It  was  from  Fields  &  Osgood,  the 
publishers,  and  was  addressed  to  me  as 
editor.  It  requested  me  to  hand  the  en- 
closed note  to  the  author  of  '  The  Luck  of 
Roaring  Camp.'  The  note  was  their  offer 
to  publish  anything  he  chose  to  write,  upon 
his  own  terms.  This  became  known,  and 
it  turned  the  tide  of  criticism.  Since  Bos- 
ton indorsed  the  story,  San  Francisco  was 


properly  proud  of  it.  Thenceforth  I  had 
my  own  way  without  interruption.  Other 
stories,  the  mining  tales  with  which  you 
are  familiar,  followed  in  quick  succession. 
The  numberless  impressions  of  the  earlier 
days  were  all  vividly  fixed  in  my  mind, 
waiting  to  be  worked  up,  and  their  success 
was  made  apparent  to  me  in  very  substan- 
tial ways,  though  the  religious  press  con- 
tinued to  suffer  from  the  most  painful 
doubts,  and  certain  local  critics  who  had 
torn  my  first  story  to  pieces,  fell  into  a 
quiet  routine  of  stating  that  each  succeed- 
ing story  was  the  worst  thing  that  had  yet 
appeared  from  my  pen." 


*A    PHYLLIS    OF    THE    SIERRAS.  FROM   A   PHOTOGRAPH    BV    FRADELLE    &     YOUNG,    LONDON,   OF  A 

DRAWING   BY   CATON    WOODVILLE. 


174 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


BRET    HARTE  S   FIRST    MEETING    WITH 
MARK    TWAIN. 

"  Local  color  having  been  placed, 
through  the  dictum  of  the  Atlantic  States, 
at  a  premium,"  Mr.  Harte  continues,  "the 
'  Overland  '  be- 
came what  it 
should  have 
been  from  the 
start,  truly  Cali- 
fornian  in  tone. 
Other  writers 
followed  my 
'trail,'  and  the 
freshness  and 
vivid  life  of  the 
country  found  a 
literary  expres- 
sion. At  that 
time  I  held  a 
political  office, 
the  secretary- 
ship of  the  San 
Francisco  Mint. 
The  Mint  was 
but  a  few  steps 
from  the  leading 
newspaper  es- 
tablishments, 
and  as  I  had 
previously  been 
the  editor  of 
'  The  Califor- 
nian,'  a  literary 
weekly,  my  of- 
fice was  a  ren- 
dezvous for  con- 
tributors and 
would-be  con- 
tributors to  the 
magazine. 

"Some  months 
before  the 
'Overland*  ap- 
peared, George 
Barnes,  a  well- 
known  journal- 
ist and  an  inti- 
mate friend  of 
mine,  walked  in- 
to my  office  one 
morning  with  a 
young  man 

whose  appearance  was  unmistakably  inter- 
esting. His  head  was  striking.  He  had 
the  curly  hair,  the  aquiline  nose,  and  even 
the  aquiline  eye — an  eye  so  eagle-like  that 
a  second  lid  would  not  have  surprised  me 
— of  an  unusual  and  dominant  nature.  His 
eyebrows  were  very  thick  and  bushy.  His 


THE  ISLAND  OF  YERBA  BUENA.  PAINTED  BY  G.  MONTBARD  TO  ILLUSTRATE 
BRET  HARTE'S  STORY,  "A  WARD  OF  THE  GOLDEN  GATE."  PHOTO- 
GRAPHED BY  FRADELLE  &  YOUNG,  LONDON. 


dress  was  careless,  and  his  general  manner 
one  of  supreme  indifference  to  surround- 
ings and  circumstances.  Barnes  introduced 
him  as  Mr.  Sam  Clemens,  and  remarked 
that  he  had  shown  a  very  original  talent 
in  a  number  of  newspaper  contributions 

over  the  signa- 
ture of  '  Mark 
Twain.'  We 
talked  on  dif- 
ferent topics, 
and  about  a 
month  after- 
wards Clemens 
dropped  in  upon 
me  again. 

"He had  been 
away  in  the  min- 
ing district  on 
some  newspaper 
assignment  in 
the  meantime. 
In  the  course  of 
conversation  he 
remarked  that 
the  unearthly 
laziness  that 
prevailed  in  the 
town  he  had 
been  visiting 
was  beyond 
anything  in  his 
previous  experi- 
ence. He  said 
the  men  did 
nothing  all  day 
long  but  sit 
around  the  bar- 
room stove,  spit, 
and  'swop  lies.' 
He  spoke  in  a 
slow,  rather  sa- 
tirical, drawl 
which  was  in  it- 
self irresistible. 
He  went  on  to 
tell  one  of  those 
extravagant 
stories,  and  half 
unconsciously 
dropped  into  the 
lazy  tone  and 
manner  of  the 
original  narra- 
tor. It  was  as  graphic  as  it  was  delicious. 
I  asked  him  to  tell  it  again  to  a  friend  who 
came  in,  and  then  asked  him  to  write  it  out 
for  '  The  Californian.'  He  did  so,  and 
when  published  it  was  an  emphatic  success. 
It  was  the  first  work  of  his  that  attracted 
general  .attention,  and  it  crossed  the  Sierras. 


A   MORNING    WITH  BRET  HARTE. 


for  an  Eastern  hearing.    From  that  point  his          '  Bean  pods  are  noisiest  when  dry, 
success  was  steady.     The  story  was  '  The  And  >'ou  always  wink  with  your  weakest  eye,' 

Jumping  Frog  of  Calaveras.'     It   is  now 

known  and  laughed  over,  I  suppose,  wher-  I  did  not  dream  that  an  eminent  Phila- 
ever  the  English  language  is  spoken  ;  but  delphia  ophthalmologist  would  make  this 
it  will  never  be  as  funny  to  anybody  in  statement,  which  it  appears  is  true,  the 
print  as  it  was  to  me,  told  for  the  first  subject  of  an  essay  before  his  society, 
time  by  the  unknown  Twain  himself,  on  Another  eminent  scientist  who  is  interested 
that  morning  in  the  San  Francisco.  Mint."  in  the  elementary  conditions  of  human 

nature,  and  the  prehensile  tendencies  of 
babies'  fingers,  seriously  corroborated  my 
statement  about  the  baby  in  '  The  Luck 
of  Roaring  Camp,'  which  '  wrastled  '  with 
Whether  or  not  there  ever  really  existed  Kentuck's  finger. 

an  innocent  frog,  wickedly  filled  with  bird  "  My  stories  are  true,  however,  not  only 
shot,  for  speculative  purposes,  by  a  design-  in  phenomena,  but  in  characters.  I  do  not 
ing  man,  it  now  appears  that  there  cer-  pretend  to  say  that  many  of  my  characters 


HOW    MUCH    IS    REAL    IN    BRET    HARTE  S 
TALES. 


itainly  did  exist  a  John 
Oakhurst,  and  that  all 
the  Bret  Harte  charac- 
ters and  incidents  wer 
drawn  from  life  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent. 
" '  Greater  or  less  '  is 
perhaps  the  best  way 
to  answer  the  ques- 
tion," says  their  cre- 
;ator,  thoughtfully,  and 
this  statement,  like 
.every  other  expres- 
sion of  opinion  from 
ihim,  is  very  emphatic, 
ibut  very  polite,  in 
;fact,  almost  deferen- 
itial  in  tone.  He  is 
•firm  in  his  own  con- 
clusions, but  as  gentle 
in  differing  with  you 
.as  an  oriental  poten- 
tate, who  might  beg 
•you  with  tears  in  his 


BRET  HARTE'S  DAUGHTERS,  JESSAMY  AND  ETHEL.  FROM 
A  PHOTOGRAPH  TAKEN  SEVERAL  YEARS  AGO  IN 
PLAINFIELD,  N.  J. 


existed  exactly  as 
they  are  described, 
but  I  believe  there  is 
not  one  of  them  who 
did  not  have  a  real 
human  being  as  a  sug- 
gesting and  starting 
point.  Some  of  them, 
indeed,  had  several. 
John  Oakhurst,  for 
instance,  was  drawn 
quite  closely  from  life. 
On  one  occasion,  how- 
ever, when  a  story  in 
which  he  figures  was 
being  discussed, ,  a 
friend  of  mine  said  : 
'  I  know  the  original 
of  Oakhurst — the  man 
you  took  him  from.' 
"  '  Who  ? '  said  I. 
Young  L- 


"  I  was  astounded. 
As  a  matter  of   fact, 

eyes  to  agree  with  him,  and  complacently  the    gambler   as    portrayed    was  as  good 

drown  you  if  you  didn't.  a  picture,    even    to    the    limp,    of    young 

"  I  may  say  with  perfect  truth,"  he  adds,    L ,  as  of  the  actual  original.     The  two 

•"that  there  were  never  any  natural  phe-  men,  you  see,  belonged  to  a  class  which 

nomena  made  use  of  in  my  novels  of  which  had   strongly  marked  characteristics,  and 

I   had  not  been   personally  cognizant,  ex-  were  generally  alike  in  dress  and  manner, 

•cept  one,  and  that  was  the  bursting  of  the  And  so  with  the  others.     Perhaps  some  of 

reservoir,  in  '  Gabriel  Conroy.'     But  not  a  my  heroes  were   slightly   polished   in   the 

year  had  elapsed  after  the  publication  of  setting,  and  perhaps  some  of  my  heroines 

the  book  before  I  received  a  letter  from  a  were  somewhat  idealized,  but  they  all  had 

man  in  Shasta  County,  California,  asking  an  original  existence  outside  of  my  brain 

how  I  happened  to  know  so  much  about  and  outside  of  my  books.     I   know   this, 

the  flood  that  had  occurred  there,  and  stat-  though  I  could  not  possibly  tell  you  who 

ing  that  I  had  described  many  of  its  inci-  the   originals    were    or    where    they    were 

dents  to  the  very  life.     I  have  been  cred-  found." 

ited  with  great  powers  of  observation,  and  As  Mr.  Harte  talks   his  hands  become 

not  a  few  discoveries  in  natural  phenomena,  eloquent.      The    gestures    are    quiet    and 

Whether  I  am  entitled  to  the  credit  or  not,  graceful,  but  arms,  wrist,  hands,  and  fingers 

I  cannot  say.    When  I  wrote,  in  '  The  Tale  come  into  continuous  play.     And  when  he 

•ol  a  Pony,'  finally  lights  upon  his  grievance — like  every 


I76 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


other  man  of  note,  he  has  a  grievance — he 
becomes  particularly  earnest,  and  the  gest- 
ures are  slightly  more  emphatic. 


HOW  BRET  HARTE  WORKS 
WORK. 


AND  DOES  NOT 


"  I  don't  object  to  being  written  about 
as  I  am,"  he  says,  "but  I  particularly  dis- 
like being  described  as  I  am  not.  And,  for 
some  strange  journalistic  or  human  reason, 
the  inventions  concerning  me  seem  to 
have  much  greater  currency  and  vitality 
than  the  truths.  Here,  for  instance,"  and 
he  examines  a  pile  of  newspaper  cuttings 
on  the  desk,  "  are  two  interesting  contri- 
butions to  my  public  history  which  came 
this  morning." 

The  first,  from  "  Galignani's  Messenger," 
read  as  follows  : 

"Bret  Harte  cannot  work 
except  in  seclusion,  and  when 
he  is  busy  on  a  story  he  will 
hide  himself  away  in  some 
suburban  retreat  known  only 
to  his  closest  friends.  Here 
he  will  rise  just  after  dawn, 
be  at  his  desk  several  hours 
before  breakfast,  and  remain 
there,  with  an  interval  of  an 
hour  for  a  walk,  the  whole 
day." 

"I  meet  this  everywhere," 
said  Mr.  Harte,  "  and  this," 
taking  up  a  second  cutting 
in  its  natural  sequence  : 

"  Bret  Harte  has  reached 
a  point  where  literary  work 
is  impossible  to  him  except 
in  absolute  solitude.  When 
writing  he  leaves  his  own 
home  for  suburban  lodgings, 
where  no  visitor  is  allowed  to 
trouble  him,  and  where  he 
follows  a  severe  routine  of 
early  rising,  scant  diet,  and 
steady  work.  It  has  been 
generally  remarked  that  one 
can  see  this  laborious  regi- 
men in  his  latter-day  novels." 
This  was  from  "  The  Argo- 
naut," San  Francisco. 

"  Now,  what  is  diabolically 
ingenious  in  this,"  continues 
Mr.  Harte,  "  is  that  those 
authoritative  statements  are 
untrue  in  every  particular. 
I  never  seek  seclusion.  In 
fact,  I  could  not  work  in  se- 
clusion. I  rise  at  a  civilized 
hour,  about  half-past  eight 


o'clock,  and  eat  my  breakfast  like  any 
other  human  being.  I  then  go  to  work,  if 
I  have  a  piece  of  work  in  hand,  and  remain 
at  my  desk  till  noon.  I  never  work  after 
luncheon.  I  read  my  proofs  with  as  much 
interest  and,  I  think,  as  much  care  as  any- 
body else,  and  yet  the  public  is  taught  to 
believe  that  I  never  see  my  '  copy  '  after  it 
once  leaves  my  hands. 

"  If  newspapers  were  as  anxious  to  print 
facts  about  a  man  as  they  are  to  furnish 
information  which  their  readers  will  pre- 
sumably enjoy  repeating,  it  would  be  dif- 
ferent. I  won,  some  years  '  ago,  without 
the  slightest  effort  on  my  part,  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  the  laziest  man  in  America. 
At  first  the  compliment  took  the  form  of 
an  extended  paragraph  deploring  my  fatal 
facility,  and  telling  in  deprecating  sen- 
tences how  much  I  could  probably  do  if  I 


BRET   HARTB.      FROM    A   DRAWING   BY  ARTHUR  JULK   GOODMAN,    1894. 


A   MORNING    WITH  BRET  HARTE. 


177 


were  not  so  indolent.  This  grew  smaller 
and  smaller,  until  it  took  a  concise  and 
easily  annexable  form,  viz.:  'Bret  Harte 
is  the  laziest  man  in  America.'  As  an 
interesting  adjunct  to  the  personal  column 
I  read  it,  of  course  with  extreme  pleasure, 
in  every  paper  that  came  habitually  under 
my  eye.  Denial,  of  course,  was  of  no 
earthly  use,  and  the  line  travelled  all  over 
the  country,  and  is  doubtless  still  on  its 
rounds.  In  the  course  of  time,  on  a  lect- 
uring tour,  I  reached  St.  Joe,  Missouri.  I 
had  been  lecturing  by  night  and  travelling 
by  day  for  ten  weeks,  continuously.  A 
reporter  called  and  desired  to  know  what 
kind  of  soap  I  used — he  had  heard  sinister 
rumors  that  it  was  a  highly  scented  foreign 
article — my  opinion  of  Longfellow,  and 
various  other  questions  of  moment.  I  as- 
sured him  that  I  used  the  soap  of  the 
hotel,  and  concealed  nothing  from  him 
with  regard  to  Longfellow,  but  begged 
him  particularly  to  note  the  fact  of  my 
preternatural  activity.  He  managed  these 
facts  correctly  in  his  half-column  next 
morning,  but  adorned  me  with  a  glittering 
diamond  stud  of  which  I  had  no  knowledge. 
And  in  the  same  paper,  in  another  column, 
I  found  a  pleasant  variation  from  the  usual 
line.  There  was  no  allusion  to  my  late 
labors.  It  was  simply  :  '  Bret  Harte  says 
he  is  not  the  laziest  man  in  America.'  Al- 
together, therefore,  I  should  perhaps  think 
well  of  my  friend  of  St.  Joe,  Missouri. 

"  Those  lectures  were  an  amusing  ex- 
perience," he  adds,  laughing.  "  What  the 
people  expected  in  me  I  do  not  know. 
Possibly  a  six-foot  mountaineer,  with  a 
voice  and  lecture  in  proportion.  They 
always  seemed  to  have  mentally  confused 
me  with  one  of  my  own  characters.  I  am 
not  six  feet  high,  and  I  do  not  wear  a 
beard.  Whenever  I  walked  out  before  a 
strange  audience  there  was  a  general  sense 
of  disappointment,  a  gasp  of  astonishment 
that  I  could  feel,  and  it  always  took  at 
least  fifteen  minutes  before  they  recovered 
from  their  surprise  sufficiently  to  listen  to 
what  I  had  to  say.  I  think,  even  now,  that 
if  I  had  been  more  herculean  in  propor- 
tions, with  a  red  shirt  and  top  boots,  many 
of  those  audiences  would  have  felt  a  deeper 
thrill  from  my  utterances  and  a  deeper  con- 
viction that  they  had  obtained  the  worth 
of  their  money." 

A    MAN    CAREFUL  OF  DETAILS    IN    HIS    WORK 
AND    HIS    PERSON. 

The  conversation  rambles.  A  polished 
critic,  an  epicurean,  a  man  of  the  world, 


and  carrying  everywhere  the  independence 
of  a  distinct  literary  personality,  Bret 
Harte  talks  as  he  writes,  like  a  gentleman. 
This  is  a  subtile  attribute,  but  one  which 
England  never  fails  to  recognize  and  value, 
and  it  is  one  prime  cause  of  the  popularity 
of  his  works  in  the  United  Kingdom.  Con- 
tinually in  evidence  also  is  his  distinguish- 
ing characteristic,  one  which  is  only  de- 
scribed by  the  word  "  nicety  " — nicety  in 
dress,  nicety  in  speech,  nicety  in  thought. 
This  artistic  precision  and  thoughtful  atten- 
tion to  details  is  the  most  marked  attribute 
of  the  man,  and  from  it  you  understand  the 
plane  and  power  of  his  work.  Without  it, 
the  most  impressive  of  his  stories,  "  The 
Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,"  for  instance, 
could  not  possibly  have  been  written.  It  is 
rather  a  singular  quality  to  be  found  in 
combination  with  his  emotional  breadth 
and  dramatic  sweep  as  a  writer,  but  it  is 
the  one  which  finishes  and  polishes  the 
whole,  and  it  is  clearly  natural  and  in- 
herent. 

THE  CIVIL  WAR  A  GREAT  OPPORTUNITY  FOR 
AMERICAN  NOVELISTS. 

Perhaps  the  most  valuable  of  all  Mr. 
Harte's  ideas  are  his  opinions  concerning 
the  literary  field  of  to-day.  His  views  of 
literature  as  a  profession  are  now  pleasantly 
optimistic,  possibly  through  the  business- 
like way  in  which  his  interests  have  long 
been  handled  by  that  most  skilful  of  liter- 
ary agents,  Mr.  A.  P.  Watt.  Contemporary 
life  in  its  highest  social  aspects  he  looks 
upon,  however,  as  most  unpromising  ma- 
terial for  romantic  treatment. 

"  In  America,"  he  says,  "  the  great  field  is 
the  late  war.  The  dramatists  have  found  and 
utilized  it,  but  the  novelists,  the  romance 
writers,  have  in  it  the  richest  possible  field, 
for  works  of  serious  import,  and  yet,  outside 
of  short  stories,  they  seem  to  have  passed 
it  by.  If  I  had  time,  nothing  would  please 
me  better  than  to  go  over  the  ground,  or 
portions  of  it,  and  make  use  of  it  for  future 
work.  Our  war  of  the  Revolution  is  not 
good  material  for  cosmopolitan  purposes. 
This  country  has  never  quite  forgotten  the 
way  in  which  it  ended.  But  the  war  of  the 
Rebellion  was  our  own  and  is  our  own  ;  its 
dramatic  and  emotional  aspects  are  infinite; 
and  while  American  writers  are  coming 
abroad  for  scenes  to  picture,  I  am  in  con- 
stant fear  that  some  Englishman  or  French- 
man will  go  to  America  and  reap  the  field 
in  romance  which  we  should  now,  all  local 
feeling  having  passed  away,  be  utilizing  to 
our  own  fame  and  profit." 


GEORGE    DU     MAURIER. 

From  a  photograph  by  Fradelle  &  Young,  taken  for  "McClure's  Magazine  "at  Mr.  Du  Maurier's  home. 


THE    AUTHOR    OF    "TRILBY." 

AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    INTERVIEW    WITH    MR.     GEORGE    DU    MAURIER. 


The  illustrations  in  this  article  are  from  photographs  made  especially  for  "  McClure's  Magazine." 
BY  ROBERT  H.  SHERARD. 


crossed  the  heath,  I 
passed  a  group  of 
devout  people  to 
whom,  standing 
among  them,  a  Sal- 
vation Army  girl, 
with  an  inspired 
face,  was  preaching 
with  great  fervor. 
I  did  not  stay  to 
listen  to  her,  for 
George  du  Maurier 
had  appointed  me 
to  meet  him  at  his 
house  at  three  on 
that  Sunday  after- 
noon. But  as  I 

went  my  way,  I  heard  the  words  :  "  Never 
you  envy  even  those  who  seem  most  to  be 
envied  in  this  world,  for  in  even  the  hap- 
piest life  .  .  ."  and  that  was  all. 

Du  Maurier's  house  is  in  a  quiet  little 
street  that  leads  from  the  open  heath 
down  to  the  township  of  Hampstead,  a 
street  of  few  houses  and  of  high  walls, 
with  trees  everywhere,  and  an  air  of  seclu- 
sion and  quiet  over  all.  The  house  stands 
on  the  left  hand  as  one  walks  away  from 
the  heath,  and  is  in  the  angle  formed  by 
the  quiet  street  and  a  lane  which  leads 
down  to  the  high  road.  It  is  a  house  of 
bricks  overgrown  with  ivy,  with  angles 
and  protrusions,  and  in  the  little  garden 
which  is  to  the  left  of  the  entrance  door 
stands  a  large  tree.  The  front  door,  which 
opens  straight  on  to  the  street,  is  painted 
white,  and  is  fitted  with  brass  knockers  of 
polished  brilliance.  As  one  enters  the 
house,  one  notices  on  the  wall  to  the  left, 


just  after  the  threshold  is  crossed,  the 
original  of  one  of  Du  Maurier's  drawings 
in  "  Punch,"  a  drawing  concerning  two 
"  millionnairesses,"  with  the  text  written 
beneath  the  picture  in  careful,  almost 
lithographic  penmanship. 

"  That  was  where  I  received  my  train- 
ing in  literature,"  said  Du  Maurier.  "  So 
Anstey  pointed  out  to  me  the  other  day, 
when  I  told  him  how  surprised  I  was  at 
the  success  of  my  books,  considering  that 
I  had  never  written  before.  '  Never  writ- 
ten ! '  he  cried  out.  '  Why,  my  dear  Du 
Maurier,  you  have  been  writing  all  your 
life,  and  the  best  of  writing-practice  at 
that.  Those  little  dialogues  of  yours, 
which  week  after  week  you  have  fitted 
to  your  drawings  in  '  Punch,'  have  pre- 
pared you  admirably.  It  was  precis  writ- 
ing, and  gave  you  conciseness  and  repartee 
and  appositeness,  and  the  best  qualities  of 
the  writer  of  fiction.'  And,"  added  Du 
Maurier,  "  I  believe  Anstey  was  quite 
right,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it." 

The  waiting-room,  or  hall,  is  under  an 
arch,  to  the  right  of  the  passage  which 
leads  from  the  door  to  the  staircase,  a 
cosy  corner  on  which  a  large  model  of  the 
Venus  of  Milo  looks  down.  "  There  is 
my  great  admiration,"  said  Du  Maurier  in 
the  evening,  as  he  pointed  to  the  armless 
goddess,  and  went  on  to  repeat  what  Heine 
has  said,  and  mentioned  Heine's  desire  for 
the  Venus's  armless  embrace. 

DU    MAURIER    IN    HIS    STUDY. 

It  was  in  his  study  that  Du  Maurier 
received  me,  a  large  room  on  the  first  floor, 


i8o 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


with  a  square  bay  window  overlooking  the 
quiet  street  on  the  right,  and  a  large  win- 
dow almost  reaching  to  the  ceiling,  and 
looking  in  the  direction  of  the  heath,  fac- 
ing the  door.  It  is  under  this  window, 
the  light  from  which  is  toned  down  by 
brown  curtains,  that  Du  Maurier's  table 
stands,  comfortably  equipped  and  tidy. 
On  a  large  blotting-pad  lay  a  thin  copy- 
book, open,  and  one  could  see  that  the 
right  page  was  covered  with  large,  round- 
hand  writing,  whilst  on  the  left  page  there 
were,  in  smaller,  more  precise  penmanship, 
corrections,  emendations,  addenda.  In  a 
frame  stood  a  large  photograph  of  Du 
Maurier,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  ink- 
stand was  a  pile  of  thin  copy-books,  blue 
and  red.  "  A  fortnight's  work  on  my  new 
novel,"  said  Du  Maurier. 

A  luxurious  room  it  was,  with  thick  car- 
pets and  inviting  arm-chairs,  the  walls  cov- 
ered with  stamped  leather,  and  hung  with 
many  of  the  master's  drawings  in  quiet 
frames.  In  one  corner  a  water-color  por- 
trait, by  Du  Maurier,  of  Canon  Ainger,  and, 
from  the  same  brush,  the  picture  of  a  lady 
with  a  violin,  on  the  wall  to  the  left  of  the 
decorative  fireplace,  from  over  which,  in 
the  place  of  honor,  another,  smaller,  model 
of  the  armless  Venus  looks  down.  To  the 
right  is  a  grand  piano,  and  elsewhere  other 
furniture  of  noticeable  style,  and  curtains, 
screens,  and  ornaments.  A  beautiful  room, 
in  fact,  and  within  it  is  none  of  the  litter 
of  the  man  of  letters  or  of  the  painter. 

It  was  here  that  I  first  saw  Du  Maurier, 
a  quiet  man  of  no  great  stature,  who  at 
the  first  sight  of  him  impresses  one  as  a 
man  who  has  suffered  greatly,  haunted  by 
some  evil  dream  or  disturbing  apprehen- 
sion. His  welcome  is  gentle  and  kindly, 
but  he  does  not  smile,  even  when  he  is  say- 
ing a  clever  and  smile-provoking  thing. 

"You  must  smoke.  One  smokes  here. 
It  is  a  studio."  Those  were  amongst  the 
first  words  that  Du  Maurier  said,  and  there 
was  hospitality  in  them  and  the  freemasonry, 
of  letters. 

DU  MAURIER'S   FAMILY. 

"  My  full  name  is  George  Louis  Palmella 
Busson  du  Maurier,  but  we  were  of  very 
small  nobility.  My  name  Palmella  was 
given  to  me  in  remembrance  of  the  great 
friendship  between  my  father's  sister  and 
the  Duchesse  de  Palmella,  who  was  the  wife 
of  the  Portuguese  ambassador  to  France. 
Our  real  family  name  is  Busson  ;  the  '  Du 
Maurier '  comes  from  the  Chateau  le 
Maurier,  built  some  time  in  the  fifteenth 


century,  and  still  standing  in  Anjou  or 
Maine,  but  a  brewery  to-day.  It  belonged 
to  our  cousins  the  Auberys,  and  in  the 
seventeenth  century  it  was  the  Auberys 
who  wore  the  title  of  Du  Maurier  ;  and  an 
Aubery  du  Maurier  who  distinguished  him- 
self in  that  century  was  Louis  of  that  name, 
who  was  French  ambassador  to  Holland, 
and  was  well  liked  of  the  great  king.  The 
Auberys  and  the  Bussons  married  and  inter- 
married, and  I  cannot  quite  say  without 
referring  to  family  papers — at  present  at 
my  bank — when  the  Bussons  assumed  the 
territorial  name  of  Du  Maurier  ;  but  my 
grandfather's  name  was  Robert  Mathurin 
Busson  du  Maurier,  and  his  name  is  always 
followed,  in  the  papers  which  refer  to  him, 
by  the  title  Gentilhomme  verrier — gentle- 
man glass-blower.  For  until  the  Revolu- 
tion glass-blowing  was  a  monopoly  of  the 
gentilhommes ;  that  is  to  say,  no  commoner 
might  engage  in  this  industry,  at  that  time 
considered  an  art.  You  know  the  old 
French  saying  : 

'  Pour  souffler  un  verre 
II  faut  etre  gentilhomme.'  " 

"A  year  or  two  ago,"  continued  Du 
Maurier,  "  I  was  over  in  Paris  with  Burnand 
and  Furniss,  and  we  went  into  Notre  Dame, 
and  as  we  were  examining  some  of  the 
gravestones  with  which  one  of  the  aisles 
is  in  places  laid,  I  came  upon  a  Busson 
who  had  been  buried  there,  and  on  the 
stone  was  carved  our  coat-of-arms,  but  it 
was  almost  all  effaced,  and  there  only  re- 
mained, clearly  distinguishable,  the  black 
lion,  my  black  lion."  It  may  be  added 
that  the  Busson  genealogy  dates  from  the 
twelfth  century.  Du  Maurier,  though,  does 
not  take  the  subject  of  descent  too  seri- 
ously. "  One  is  never  quite  sure,"  he  says, 
with  the  shadow  of  a  smile,  "about  one's 
descent.  So  many  accidents  occur.  I  made 
use  of  many  of  the  names  which  occur  in 
the  papers  concerning  my  family  history, 
in  'Peter  Ibbetson.' 

"  My  father  was  a  small  rentier,  whose 
income  was  derived  from  our  glass-works 
in  Anjou.  He  was  born  in  England,  for 
his  father  had  fled  to  England  to  escape 
the  guillotine  when  the  Revolution  broke 
out,  and  they  returned  to  France  in  1816. 
My  grandmother  was  a  bourgeoise.  Her 
name  was  Bruaire,  and  she  descended  from 
Jean  Bart,  the  admiral.  My  grandfather 
w-as  not  a  rich  man.  Indeed,  whilst  he  was 
in  England  he  had  mainly  to  depend  on 
the  liberality  of  the  British  Government, 
which  allowed  him  a  pension  of  twenty 


THE  AUTHOR   OF  "  TRILBY: 


181 


MR.  Dir  MAURIER'S  HOUSE  ON  HAMPSTEAD  HEATH. 


pounds  a  year  for  each  member  of  his 
family.  He  died  in  the  post  of  school- 
master at  Tours. 

CHILDHOOD    AND    YOUTH. 

"  My  mother  was  an  Englishwoman,  and 
was  married  to  my  father  at  the  British 
Embassy  in  Paris,  and  I  was  born  in  Paris, 
on  March  6,  1834,  in  a  little  house  in  the 
Champs- Elysees.  It  bore  the  number  80. 
It  was  afterwards  sold  by  my  father,  and 
has  since  been  pulled  down.  I  often  look 
at  the  spot  when  I  am  in  Paris  and  am 
walking  down  the  Champs-Elysees,  and 
what  I  most  -regret  at  such  times  are  the 
pine  trees  which  in  my  childhood  used  to 
be  there — very  different  from  the  miser- 
able, stumpy  avenue  of  to-day.  It  is  a  dis- 


illusion which  comes  upon  me  with  equal 
force  at  each  new  visit,  for  I  remember  the 
trees,  and  the  trees  only.  Indeed,  I  only 
lived  in  the  house  of  my  birth  for  two  years, 
for  in  1836  my  parents  removed  to  Belgium, 
and  here  I  remember  with  peculiar  vivid- 
ness a  Belgian  man-servant  of  ours,  called 
Francis.  I  used  to  ask  him  to  take  me  in 
his  arms  and  to  carry  me  down-stairs  to  look 
at  some  beautiful  birds.  I  used  to  think 
that  these  were  real  birds*each  time  that  I 
looked  at  them,  although,  in  fact,  they 
were  but  painted  on  the  panes,  and  I  had 
been  told  so.  I  remember  another  childish 
hallucination.  I  used  to  sleep  in  my  par- 
ents' room,  and  when  I  turned  my  face  to 
the  wall,  a'  door  in  the  wall  used  to  open, 
and  a  charbonnier,  a  coal-man,  big  and  black, 
used  to  come  and  take  me  up  and  carry 


102 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


me  down  a  long,  winding  staircase,  into  a 
kitchen,  where  his  wife  and  children  were, 
and  treated  me  very  kindly.  In  truth, 
there  was  neither  door,  nor  charbonnier, 
nor  kitchen.  It  was  an  hallucination  ;  yet 
it  possessed  me  again  and  again. 

"  We  stayed  three  years  in  Belgium,  and 
when  I  was  five  years  old  I  went  with  my 
parents  to  London,  where  my  father  took 
a  house — the  house  which  a  year  later  was 
taken  by  Charles  Dickens — i  Devonshire 
Terrace,  Marylebone  Road.  Of  my  life  here 
I  best  remember  that  I  used  to  go  out  riding 
in  the  park,  on  a  little  pony,  escorted  by 
a  groom,  who  led  my  pony  by  a  strap,  and 
that  I  did  not  like  to  be  held  in  leash  this 
way,  and  tried  to  get  away.  One  day  when 
I  was  grumbling  at  the  groom,  he  said  I 
was  to  be  a  good  boy,  for  there  was  the 
Queen  surrounded  by  her  lords ;  and  he 
added  :  '  Master  Georgie,  take  off  your  hat 
to  the  Queen  and  all  her  lords.'  And  then 
cantered  past  a  young  woman  surrounded 
by  horsemen.  I  waved  my  hat,  and  the 
young  woman  smiled  and  kissed  her  hand 
to  me.  It  was  the  Queen  and  her  equer- 
ries. 

"We  only  stayed  a  year  in  Devonshire 
Terrace,  for  my  father  grew  very  poor. 
He  was  a  man  of  scientific  tastes,  and  lost 
his  money  in  inventions  which  never  came 
to  anything.  So  we  had  to  wander  forth 
again,  and  this  time  we  went  to  Boulogne, 
and  there  we  lived  in  a  beautiful  house  at 
the  top  of  the  Grande  Rue.  I  had  sunny 
hours  there,  and  was  very  happy.  It  is  a 
part  of  my  life  which  I  shall  describe  in 
one  of  my  books. 

"  Much  of  my  childhood  is  related  in 
'  Peter  Ibbetson.'  My  favorite  book  was 
the  '  Swiss  Family  Robinson,'  and  next, 
'Robinson  Crusoe.'  I  used  to  devour 
these  books. 

DU    MAURIER    A    LATE    SPEAKER. 

"  I  was  a  late  speaker.  My  parents  must 
have  thought  me  dumb.  And  one  day  I 
surprised  them  all  by  coming  out  with  a 
long  sentence.  It  was,  '  Papa  est  altt 
chez  le  boucher  pour  acheter  de  la  viande 
pour  matnan,'  and  so  astonished  every- 
body." 

George  du  Maurier  has  recently  again 
astonished  everybody  in  a  similar  way, 
coming  forth  loud  and  articulate  and 
strong,  after  a  long  silence,  which  one 
fancied  was  to  be  forever  prolonged. 

"  We  used  to  speak  both  French  and 
English  at  home,  and  I  was  brought  up  in 
both  languages. 


"From  Boulogne  we  went  to  Paris,  to 
live  in  an  apartment  on  the  first  floor  of 
the  house  No.  108  in  the  Champs-Elys6es. 
The  house  still  stands,  but  the  ground 
floor  is  now  a  caf^  and  the  first  floor  is 
part  of  it.  I  feel  sorry  when  I  look  up  at 
the  windows  from  which  my  dear  mother's 
face  used  to  watch  for  my  return  from 
school,  and  see  waiters  bustling  about  and 
my  home  invaded. 

"I  went  to  school  at  the  age  of  thirteen, 
in  the  Pension  Froussard,  in  the  Avenue 
du  Bois  de  Boulogne.  It  was  kept  by  a 
man  called  Froussard,  a  splendid  fellow, 
whom  I  admired  immensely  and  remember 
with  affection  and  gratitude.  He  became 
a  deputy  after  the  Revolution  of  1848. 
He  was  assisted  in  the  school-work  by  his 
son,  who  was  also  one  of  the  heroes  of  my 
youthful  days,  another  splendid  fellow.  I 
was  a  lazy  lad,  with  no  particular  bent,  and 
may  say  that  I  worked  really  hard  for  one 
year.  I  made  a  number  of  friends,  of 
course,  but  of  my  comrades  at  the  Pension 
Froussard,  only  one  distinguished  himself 
in  after  life.  He  was  a  big  boy,  two  years 
my  senior.  His  name  was  Louis  Becque 
de  Fouquiere.  He  distinguished  himself 
in  literature,  and  edited  Andre  Chenier's 
poems.  His  life  has  recently  been  written 
by  Anatole  France. 

"Yes,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  did 
not  distinguish  myself  at  school.  I  shall 
write  my  school  life  in  my  new  novel  '  The 
Martians.'  At  the  age  of  seventeen  I 
went  up  for  my  bachot,  my  baccalaureate 
degree,  at  the  Sorbonne,  and  was  plucked 
for  my  written  Latin  version.  It  is  true 
that  my  nose  began  to  bleed  during  the 
examination,  and  that  upset  me,  and, 
besides,  the  professor  who  was  in  charge 
of  the  room  had  got  an  idea  into  his  head 
that  I  had  smuggled  a  '  crib  '  in,  and  kept 
watching  me  so  carefully  that  I  got  ner- 
vous and  flurried.  My  poor  mother  was 
very  vexed  with  me  for  my  failure,  for  we 
were  very  poor  at  that  time,  and  it  was 
important  that  I  should  do  well.  My 
father  was  then  in  England,  and  shortly 
after  my  discomfiture  he  wrote  for  me 
to  join  him  there.  We  had  not  informed 
him  of  my  failure,  and  I  felt  very  miser- 
able as  I  crossed,  because  I  thought  that 
he  would  be  very  angry  with  me.  He 
met  me  at  the  landing  at  London  Bridge, 
and,  at  the  sight  of  my  utterly  woe-be- 
gone  face,  guessed  the  truth,  and  burst 
out  into  a  roar  of  laughter.-  I  think  that 
this  roar  of  laughter  gave  me  the  great- 
est pleasure  I  ever  experienced  in  all  my 
life. 


THE  AUTHOR   OF  "  TRILBY." 


183 


A     CONTEST      FOR      DU     MAURIER      BETWEEN 
SCIENCE    AND    THE    ARTS. 

"  You  see  my  father  was  a  scientific  man, 
and  hated  everything  that  was  not  science, 
and  despised  all  books,  the  classics  not  less 
than  others,  which  were  not  on  scientific 
subjects.  I,  on  the  other  hand,  was  fond 
of  books — of  some  books,  at  least.  When 
I  was  quite  a  boy,  I  was  enthusiastic  about 
Byron,  and  used  to  read  out '  The  Giaour '  and 
'Don  Juan'  to  my  mother  for  hours  together. 
I  knew  the  shipwreck  scene  in  '  Don  Juan  ' 
by  heart,  and  recited  it  again  and  again  ; 
and  though  my  admiration  for  Byron  has 
passed,  I  still  greatly  delight  in  that  mag- 
nificent passage.  I  can  recite  every  word" 
of  it  even  now.  Then  came  Shelley,  for 
whom  my  love  has  lasted,  and  then  Tenny- 
son, for  whom  my  admiration  has  never 
wavered,  and  will  last  all  my  life,  though 
now  I  qualify  him  with  Browning.  Swin- 
burne was  a  revelation  to  me.  When  his 
'  Poems  and  Ballads  '  appeared,  I  was  lit- 
erally frantic  about  him,  but  that  has  worn 
off. 

"  My  father,  then,  never  reproached  me 


for  my  failure  in  the  bachot  examination, 
indeed,  never  once  alluded  to  it.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  I  was  intended  for 
a  scientist,  and  determined  to  make  me  one. 
So  he  put  me  as  a  pupil  at  the  Birkbeck 
Chemical  Laboratory  of  University  Col- 
lege, where  I  studied  chemistry  under  Dr. 
Williamson.  I  am  afraid  that  I  was  a 
most  unsatisfactory  pupil,  for  I  took  no 
interest  at  all  in  the  work,  and  spent  almost 
all  my  time  in  drawing  caricatures.  I 
drew  all  my  life,  I  may  say  ;  it  was  my 
favorite  occupation  and  pastime.  Dr. 
Williamson  thought  me  a  very  unsatisfac- 
tory student  at  chemistry,  but  he  was 
greatly  amused  with  my  caricatures,  and 
we  got  on  very  well  together. 

"  My  ambition  at  that  time  was  to  go 
in  for  music  and  singing,  but  my  father 
objected  very  strongly  to  this  wish  of 
mine,  and  invariably  discouraged  it.  My 
father,  I  must  tell  you,  possessed  himself 
the  sweetest,  most  beautiful  voice  that  I 
have  ever  heard  ;  and,  if  he  had  taken  up 
singing  as  a  profession,  would  most  certainly 
have  been  the  greatest  singer  of  his  time. 
Indeed,  in  his  youth  he  had  studied  music 
for  some  time  at  the  Paris  Conservatoire, 


THE   DRAWING-ROOM    IN   MR.    DU   MAURIER's   HOUSE. 

From  a  photograph  by  Fradelle  &  Young,  London. 


1 84 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


but  his  family  objected  to  his 
following  the  profession,  for 
they  were  Legitimists  and 
strong  Catholics,  and  you 
know  in  what  contempt  the 
stage  was  held  at  the  beginning 
of  this  century.  It  is  a  pity, 
for  there  were  millions  in  his 
throat. 

"  We  were  all  musical  in  our 
family  :  my  father,  my  sis- 
ter (the  sister  who  married 
Clement  Scott,  a  most  gifted 
pianiste),  and  then  myself.  I 
was  at  that  time  crazy  about 
music,  and  used  to  practise  my 
voice  wherever  and  whenever 
I  could,  even  on  the  tops  of 
omnibuses.  But  my  father  al- 
ways discouraged  me.  I  re- 
member one  night  we  were 
crossing  Smithfield  Market  to- 
gether, and  I  was  talking  to 
my  father  about  music.  '  I  am 
sure  that  I  could  become  a 
singer,'  I  said,  'and  if  you  like 
I  will  prove  it  to  you.  I  have 
my  tuning-fork  in  my  pocket. 
Shall  I  show  you  my  A?' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  my  father,  '  I 
should  like  to  hear  your  idea 
of  an  A.'  So  I  sang  the  note. 
My  father  laughed.  '  Do  you 
call  that  an  A  ?  Let  me  show 
you  how  to  sing  it.'  And 
then  and  there  rang  out  a  note 
of  music,  low  and  sweet  at  the 
outset,  and  swelling  as  it  went, 
till  it  seemed  to  fill  all  Smith- 
field  with  divine  melody.  I  can  never  for- 
get that  scene,  never  ;  the  dark  night,  the 
lonely  place,  and  that  wave  of  the  sweet- 
est sound  that  my  ears  have  ever  heard. 

"  Sometime  later  my  father  relented  and 
gave  me  a  few  music  lessons.  I  won  him 
over  by  showing  him  a  drawing  which  I 
had  produced  in  Williamson's  class-room, 
in  which  I  was  represented  bowing  grace- 
fully in  acknowledgment  of  the  applause 
of  an  audience  whom  I  had  electrified  with 
my  musical  talents.  Music  has  always 
been  a  great  delight  to  me,  and  until 
recently  I  could  sing  well.  But  I  have 
spoiled  my  voice  by  cigarette-smoking. 

"  My  poor  father,  I  may  add,  as  I  am 
speaking  of  his  musical  powers,  died — in 
my  arms — as  he  was  singing  one  of  Count 
de  Segur's  drinking  songs.  He  left  this 
world  almost  with  .music  on  his  lips. 

"  I  remained  at  the  Birkbeck  Laboratory 
for  two  years,  that  is  to  say  till  1854,  when 


MR.    DU    MAtlRIER   AT   HIS    DRAWING-TABLE. 

From  a  photograph  by  Fradelle  &  Young,  London. 


my  father,  who  was  still  convinced  that  I 
had  a  great  future  before  me  in  the  pursuit 
of  science,  set  me  up  on  my  account  in 
a  chemical  laboratory  in  Bard's  Yard, 
Bucklersbury,  in  the  city.  The  house  is  still 
there ;  I  saw  it  a  few  days  ago.  It  was  a 
fine  laboratory,  for  my  father  being  a  poor 
man  naturally  fitted  it  up  in  the  most 
expensive  style,  with  all  sorts  of  instru- 
ments. In  the  midst  of  my  brightly-pol- 
ished apparatus  here  I  sat,  and  in  the  lo/ig 
intervals  between  business  drew  and  drew. 
"  The  only  occasion  on  which  the  sage 
of  Bard's  Yard  was  able  to  render  any  real 
service  to  humanity  was  when  he  was 
engaged  by  the  directors  of  a  company  for 
working  certain  gold  mines  in  Devonshire 
which  were  being  greatly  '  boomed,'  and 
to  which  the  public  was  subscribing  heavily, 
to  go  down  to  Devonshire  to  assay  the  ore. 
I  fancy  they  expected  me  to  send  them  a 
report  likely  to  further  tempt  the  public. 


THE  AUTHOR   OF  "  TRILBY." 


185 


If  this  was  their  expectation  they  were 
mistaken  ;  for  after  a  few  experiments,  I 
went  back  to  town  and  told  them  that 
there  was  not  a  vestige  of  gold  in  the  ore. 
The  directors  were  of  course  very  dissatis- 
fied with  this  statement,  and  insisted  on  my 
returning  to  Devonshire  to  make  further 
investigation.  I  went  and  had  a  good  time 
of  it  down  in  the  country,  for  the  miners 
were  very  jolly  fellows  ;  but  I  was  unable 
to  satisfy  my  employers,  and  sent  up  a 
report  which  showed  the  public  that  the 
whole  thing  was  a  swindle,  and  so  saved  a 
good  many  people  from  loss. 

ADOPTS    ART     AS    A    PROFESSION THE    LOSS 

OF    HIS    EYE. 

"  My  poor  father  died  in  1856,  and  at 
the  age  of  twenty-two  I  returned  to  Paris 
and  went  to  live  with  my  mother  in  the 
Rue  Paradis-Poissonniere.  We  were  very 
poor,  and  very  dull  and  dismal  it  was. 
However,  it  was  not  long  before  I  entered 
upon  what  was  the  best  time  of  my  life. 
That  is  when,  having  decided  to  follow  art 
as  a  profession,  I  entered  Gleyre's  studio 
to  study  drawing  and  painting.  Those  were 


my  joyous  Quartier  Latin  days,  spent  in 
the  charming  society  of  Poynter,  Whistler, 
Armstrong,  Lament,  and  others.  I  have 
described  Gleyre's  studio  in  'Trilby.'  For 
Gleyre  I  had  a  great  admiration,  and  at 
that  time  thought  his  '  Illusions  Perdues  ' 
a  veritable  masterpiece,  though  I  hardly 
think  so  now. 

"  My  happy  Quartier  Latin  life  lasted 
only  one  year,  for  in  1857  we  went  to 
Antwerp,  and  here  I  worked  at  the  Ant- 
werp Academy  under  De  Keyser  and  Van 
Lerius.  And  it  was  on  a  day  in  Van  Leri- 
us's  studio  that  the  great  tragedy  of  my 
life  occurred." 

The  voice  of  Du  Maurier,  who  till  then 
had  been  chatting  with  animation,  sudden- 
ly fell,  and  over  the  face  came  an  indefin- 
able expression  of  mingled  terror  and 
anger  and  sorrow. 

"  I  was  drawing  from  a  model,  when 
suddenly  the  girl's  head  seemed  to  me  to 
dwindle  to  the  size  of  a  walnut.  I  clapped 
my  hand  over  my  left  eye.  Had  I  been 
mistaken  ?  I  could  see  as  well  as  ever. 
But  when  in  its  turn  I  covered  my  right 
eye,  I  learned  what  had  happened.  My 
left  eye  had  failed  me  ;  it  might  be  alto- 


MR.  DU  MAURIER'S  STUDIO  IN  HIS  HOUSE  AT  HAMPSTEAD  HEATH. 
From  a  photograph  by  Fradelle  &  Young,  London. 


1 86 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


gather  lost.  It  was  so  sudden  a  blow  that 
I  was  as  thunderstruck.  Seeing  my  dis- 
may, Van  Lerius  came  up  and  asked  me 
what  might  be  the  matter  ;  and  when  I  told 
him,  he  said  that  it  was  nothing,  that  he 
had  had  that  himself,  and  so  on.  And  a 
doctor  whom  I  anxiously  consulted  that 
same  day  comforted  me,  and  said  that  the 
accident  was  a  passing  one.  However, 
my  eye  grew  worse  and  worse,  and  the 
fear  of  total  blindness  beset  me  con- 
stantly." 

It  was  with  a  movement  akin  to  a  shud- 
der that  Du  Maurier  spoke  these  words, 
and  my  mind  went  back  to  what  I  had 
heard  from  the  girl-preacher  as  I  crossed 
the  heath,  as  in  the  same  low  tones  and 
with  the  same  indefinable  expression  he 
continued : 

"  That  was  the  most  tragic  event  of  my 
life.  It  has  poisoned  all  my  existence." 

Du  Maurier,  as  though  to  shake  off  a 
troubling  obsession,  rose  from  his  chair, 
and  walked  about  the  room,  cigarette  in 
hand. 

"In  the  spring  of  1859  we  heard  of  a 
great  specialist  who  lived  in  Diisseldorf, 
and  we  went  to  see  him.  He  examined 
my  eyes,  and  he  said  that  though  the  left 
eye  was  certainly  lost,  I  had  no  reason  to 
fear  losing  the  other,  but  that  I  must  be 
very  careful,  and  not  drink  beer,  and  not 
eat  cheese,  and  so  on.  It  was  very  com- 
forting to  know  that  I  was  not  to  be  blind, 
but  I  have  never  quite  shaken  off  the  ter- 
ror of  that  apprehension. 


MAKING    HIS    OWN    WAY    IN    LIFE. 

"  In  the  following  year  I  felt  that  the 
time  had  come  for  me  to  earn  my  own 
living,  and  so  one  day  I  asked  my  mother 
to  give  me  ten  pounds  to  enable  me  to 
go  to  London,  and  told  her  that  I  should 
never  ask  her  for  any  more  money.  She 
did  not  want  me  to  go,  and  as  to  never 
asking  for  money,  she  begged  me  not  to 
make  any  such  resolution.  Poor  woman, 
she  would  have  given  me  her  last  penny. 
But  it  happened  that  I  never  had  occasion 
to  ask  her  assistance  ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
time  came  when  I  was  able  to  add  to  the 
comforts  of  her  existence. 

"My  first  lodging  in  London  was  in 
Newman  Street,  where  I  shared  rooms  with 
Whistler.  I  afterwards  moved  to  rooms  in 
Earl's  Terrace,  in  the  house  where  Walter 
Pater  died.  I  began  contributing  to  '  Once 
a  Week  '  and  to  '  Punch  '  very  soon  after  my 
arrival  in  London,  and  shockingly  bad  my 


drawing  was  at  the  time.  My  first  draw- 
ing in  '  Punch  '  appeared  in  June,  1860,  and 
represented  Whistler  and  myself  going  into 
a  photographer's  studio.  The  photog- 
rapher is  very  angry  with  us  for  smoking, 
and  says  that  his  is  not  an  ordinary  studio, 
where  one  smokes  and  is  disorderly. 

"  My  life  was  a  very  prosperous  one 
from  the  outset  in  London.  I  was  married 
in  1863,  and  my  wife  and  I  never  once 
knew  financial  troubles.  My  only  trouble 
has  been  my  fear  about  my  eyes.  Apart 
from  that  I  have  been  very  happy." 

As  Du  Maurier  was  speaking,  his  second 
son,  Charles,  a  tall,  handsome  youth  of 
distinguished  manners,  entered  the  room. 

"Ah,  that  is  the  'Mummer,'  as  we  call 
him,"  said  Du  Maurier.  "  Charles  is  play- 
ing in  '  Money  '  at  the  Garrick,  and  doing 
well.  He  draws  three  pounds  a  week,  and 
that's  more  than  my  eldest  son,  who  is  in 
the  army,  is  earning." 

The  conversation  turned  on  the  stage. 
"When  I  went  to  consult  my  old  friend 
John  Hare  about  letting  Charles  go  on 
the  stage,"  said  Du  Maurier,  "Hare  said 
that  provided  one  can  get  to  the  top  of 
the  tree,  the  stage  is  the  most  delightful 
profession  ;  but  that  for  the  actor  who  only 
succeeds  moderately,  it  is  the  most  miser- 
able, pothouse  existence  imaginable. 


CONNECTION    WITH    "PUNCH     — A     GLIMPSE 
OF    THACKERAY. 

"  Most  of  the  jokes  in  '  Punch  '  are  my 
own,  but  a  good  many  are  sent  to  me, 
which  I  twist  and  turn  into  form.  But 
Postlethwaite,  Bunthorne,  Mrs.  Ponsonby 
Tomkyns,  Sir  Georgeous  Midas,  and  the 
other  characters  associated  with  my  draw- 
Ings,  are  all  my  own  creations. 

"  I  have  made  many  interesting  friends 
during  my  long  life  in  London,  and  the 
lecture  which  I  have  delivered  all  over 
England  contains  many  anecdotes  about 
them.  I  never  met  Charles  Dickens  to 
speak  to  him,  and  only  saw  him  once  ;  that 
was  at  Leech's  funeral.  Thackeray  I  also 
met  only  once,  at  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Sartoris.  Mrs.  Sartoris,  who  was  Adelaide 
Kemble,  and  Hamilton  Ai'de,  who  knew 
of  my  immense  admiration  for  Thackeray, 
wanted  to  introduce  me  to  him,  but  I  re- 
fused. I  was  too  diffident.  I  was  so 
little,  and  he  was  so  great.  But  all  that 
evening  I  remained  as  close  to  him  as 
possible,  greedily  listening  to  his  words. 
I  remember  that  during  the  evening  an 
American  came  up  to  him — rather  a  com- 


THE  AUTHOR   OF  "  TRILBY." 


187 


mon  sort  of  man — and  claimed  acquaint- 
ance. Thackeray  received  him  most 
cordially,  and  invited  him  to  dinner.  I 
envied  that  American.  And  my  admira- 
tion for  Thackeray  increased  when,  as  it 
was  getting  late,  he  turned  to  his  two 
daughters,  Minnie  and  Annie,  and  said  to 
them,  '  Allans,  mesdemoiselles,  il  est  temps  de 
s'en  aller,'  with  the  best  French  accent  I 
have  ever  heard  in  an  Englishman's 
mouth. 

"  Leech  was,  of  course,  one  of  my  inti- 
mates ;  my  mas- 
ter, I  may  say, 
for  to  some  ex- 
tent my  work 
was  modelled 
on  his.  I  spent 
the  autumn  of 
the  year  which 
preceded  his 
death  with  him 
at  Whitby.  He 
was  not  very 
funny,  but  was 
kind,  amiable, 
and  genial,  a 
delightful  man. 

"I  shall  never 
forget  the  scene 
at  his  funeral. 
Dean  Hole  was- 
officiating,  and 
as  the  first  sod 
fell  with  a 
sounding  thud 
on  the  coffin  of 
our  dear,  dear 
friend,  Millais, 
who  was  stand- 
ing on  the  edge 
of  the  grave, 
burst  out  sob- 
bing. It  was 
as  a  signal,  for, 
the  moment 

after,  each  man  in  that  great 
of  mourners  was  sobbing  also, 
memorable  sight." 


NOVEL-WRITING— THE    PLOT     OF    "  TRILBY 
OFFERED    TO    HENRY    JAMES. 

Then,  going  on  to  speak  of  his  literary 
work,  Du  Maurier  said,  "  Nobody  more 
than  myself  was  surprised  at  the  great 
success  of  my  novels.  I  never  expected 
anything  of  the  sort.  I  did  not  know 
that  I  could  write.  I  had  no  idea  that  I 
had  had  any  experiences  worth  recording. 
The  circumstances  under  which  I  came  to 


write  are  curious.  I  was  walking  one 
evening  with  Henry  James  up  and  down 
the  High  Street  in  Bayswater — I  had 
made  James's  acquaintance  much  in  tht 
same  way  as  I  have  made  yours.  James 
said  that  he  had  great  difficulty  in  finding 
plots  for  his  stories.  '  Plots  ! '  I  exclaimed, 
'  I  am  full  of  plots ; '  and  I  went  on  to 
tell  him  the  plot  of  'Trilby.'  'But  you 
ought  to  write  that  story,'  cried  James. 
'  I  can't  write,'  I  said,  '  I  have  never  writ- 
ten. If  you  like  the  plot  so  much  you  may 

take  it.'  But 
James  would 
not  take  it ;  he 
said  it  was  too 
valuable  a  pres- 
ent, and  that  I 
must  write  the 
story  myself. 

"Well,  on 
reaching  home 
that  night  I  set 
to  work,  and  by 
the  next  morn- 
ing I  had  writ- 
ten the  first  two 
numbers  of 
'  Peter  Ibbet- 
son.'  It  seemed 
all  to  flow  from 
my  pen,  with- 
out effort,  in  a 
full  stream. 
But  I  thought 
it  must  be  poor 
stuff,  and  I  de- 
termined  to 
look  for  an 
omen  to  learn 
whether  any 
success  would 
attend  this  new 
departure.  So 
I  walked  out 
into  the  garden, 
and  the  very  first  thing  that  I  saw  was  a 
large  wheelbarrow,  and  that  comforted  me 
and  reassured  me  ;  for,  as  you  will  remem- 
ber, there  is  a  wheelbarrow  in  the  first 
chapter  of  '  Peter  Ibbetson.' 

"  Some  time  later  I  was  dining  with 
Osgood,  and  he  said,  '  I  hear,  Du  Maurier, 
that  you  are  writing  stories,'  and  asked 
me  to  let  him  see  something.  So  '  Peter 
Ibbetson  '  was  sent  over  to  America  and 
was  accepted  at  once.  Then  '  Trilby ' 
followed,  and  the  'boom'  came,  a  '  boom  ' 
which  surprised  me  immensely,  for  I  never 
took  myself  au  serieux  as  a  novelist.  In- 
deed, this  '  boom '  rather  distresses  me 


AN    ALCOVE   IN   THE   DRAWING-ROOM    OF   DU   MAURIER'S   HOUSE. 

From  a  photograph  by  Fradelle  &  Young,  London. 


concourse 
It  was  a 


1 88 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


DU  MAURIER'S  "SIGNATURE"  AS 
CARVED,  ALONG  WITH  THE  SIG- 
NATURES OF  OTHER  MEMBERS  OF 
THE  "  PUNCH  "  STAFF,  ON  THE 
TABLE  FROM  WHICH  THE  WEEKLY 
"  PUNCH  "  DINNER  IS  EATEN. 


when  I  reflect  that  Thack- 
eray never  had  a  '  boom.' 
And  I  hold  that  a  '  boom ' 
means  nothing  as  a  sign  of 
literary  excellence,  nothing 
but  money." 

Du  Maurier  writes  at  ir- 
regular intervals,  and  in 
such  moments  as  he  can 
snatch  from  his  "  Punch  " 
work.  "  For,"  he  says,  "  I 
am  taking  more  pains  than 
ever  over  my  drawing." 
And  so  saying,  he  fetched 
an  albumin  which  he  showed 
me  the  elaborate  prepara- 
tion, in  the  way  of  studies 
and  sketches,  for  a  cartoon  which  was  to 
appear  in  a  week  or  two  in  his  paper.  One 
figure,  from  a  female  model,  had  been 
drawn  several  times.  There  was  here  the 
infinite  capacity  for  taking  pains.  "  I  usu- 
ally write  on  the  top  of  the  piano,  standing, 
and  I  never  look  at  my  manuscript.as  I 
write,  partly  to  spare  my  eyes,  and  partly 
because  the  writing  seems  literally  to  flow 
from  my  pen.  My  best  time  is  just  after 
lunch.  My  writing  is  frequently  inter- 
rupted, and  I  walk  about  the  studio  and 
smoke,  and  then  back  to  the  manuscript 
once  more.  Afterwards  I  revise,  very  care- 
fully now,  for  I  am  taking  great  pains  with 
my  new  book.  '  The  Martians  '  is  to  be  a 
very  long  book,  and  I  cannot  say  when  it 
will  be  finished." 

A  summons    from  Mrs.   du  Maurier.  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  tea  was  served, 


"  Every  book  which  is  worth 
anything,"  said  Du  Maurier, 
"  has  had  its  original  life." 
And  again,  "  I  think  that  the 
best  years  in  a  man's  life  are 
after  he  is  forty.  So  Trol- 
lope  used  to  say.  Does 
Daudet  say  so  too  ?  A  man 
at  forty  has  ceased  to  hunt 
the  moon.  I  would  add  that 
in  order  to  enjoy  life  after 
forty,  it  is  perhaps  necessary 
to  have  achieved,  before 
reaching  that  age,  at  least 
some  success."  He  spoke 
of  the  letters  he  has  been 
receiving  since  the  "boom," 
and  said  that  on  an  average  he  received 
five  letters  a  day  from  America,  of  a  most 
flattering  description.  "  Some  of  my  corre- 
spondents, however,  don't  give  a  man  his 
'du',"  he  remarked,  with  a  shadow  of  a 
smile. 

Du  Maurier  speaks  willingly  and  enthu- 
siastically about  literature.  He  is  an 
ardent  admirer  of  Stevenson,  and  quoted 
with  gusto  the  passage  in  "  Kidnapped  " 
where  the  scene  between  David  Balfour 
and  Cluny  is  described.  "One  would  have 
to  look  at  one's  guests,"  he  said,  "  before 
inviting  them,  if  not  precisely  satisfied 
with  one's  hospitality,  to  step  outside  and 
take  their  measure.  Imagine  me  proposing 
such  an  arrangement  to  a  giant  like  Val 
Prinsep." 

The  day  on  which  he  is  able  to  devote 
most  time  to  writing  is  Thursday.  "  C'est 


here  interrupted  the  conversation.    Acorn-    man  grand  jour."     On  Wednesdays  he  is 
fortable  room,  with  amiable  people  whom    engaged  with  a   model ;  a   female  model 
one  seemed  to  recognize.     Over  the  mantel 
three  portraits  of   Du  Maurier's  children, 
by  himself, 
out   pride. 


"  Les  voila"  he  said,  not  with- 
Above  these  a  water-color 
picture  of  the  character  of  the  drawings  in 
"  Punch."  "  It  has  been  hawked  round  all 
over  America  and  England,"  said  Du  Mau- 
rier of  this  picture,  "  at  exhibitions  and 
places,  but  nobody  would  buy  it." 

A    MAN    AT    HIS   BEST    AFTER    FORTY. 

Over  the  fire  in  the  comfortable  room 
the  conversation  touched  on  many  things. 


comes  every  Friday. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  man  that  he 
should  work  with  such  renewed  applica- 
tion at  his  old  craft,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  circumstances  have  thrown  wide  open 
to  him  the  gates  of  a  new  career. 

He  reminds  one  as  to  physique,  and  in 
certain  manifestations  of  a  very  nervous 
temperament,  o/  another  giant  worker, 
whose  name  is  Emile  Zola. 

But  he  is  altogether  original  and  him- 
self, a  strong  and  striking  individuality,  a 
man  altogether  deserving  of  his  past  and 
present  good  fortune. 


A.  CONAN  DOYLE  AND  ROBERT  BARR. 


'   REAL   CONVERSATION    BETWEEN    THEM. 
RECORDED  BY  MR.  BARR. 


IN  the  very  beginning  I  wish  to  set  down 
the  fact  that  I  am  not  a  professional 
interviewer,  but  that  I  have  some  acquaint- 
ance with  the  principles  of  the  art.  The 
observant  reader  will  notice  that  I  under- 
stand the  business,  because  I  have  managed 


to  run  in  five  capital  "  I's"  in  the  first  few 
lines  of  this  article.  There  you  have  the 
whole  secret  of  interviewing  as  practiced 
A.D.  1894,  in  England.  The  successful 
interviewer  blazons  forth  as  much  of  his 
own  personality  as  possible,  using  his  vic- 


BARR    AND     DOYLE     AT   DR.    DOYLE'S     HOUSE,     SOUTH     NORWOOD.      FROM    A     PHOTOGRAPH     BY    FRADEI.T.E  ft     YOUNG,    246     REGENT 

STREET,   LONDON,    W. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


tim  as  a  peg  on  wh.ich  to  hang  his  own 
opinions.  If  the  interviewer  could  be  in- 
duced to  hang  himself  as  well  as  his  opin- 
ions, the  world  would  be  brighter  and 
better.  I  loathe  the  English  pompous 
interview. 

But  the  interview  in  England  is  an  im- 
ported article  ;  it  is  not  native  to  the  soil, 
la  America  you  get  the  real  thing,  and 
Tven  the  youngest  newspaper  man  under- 
stands how  it  should  be  done.  An  inter- 
viewer should  be  like  a  clear  sheet  of  plate 
glass  that  forms  the  front  window  of  an 
attractive  store,  through  which  you  can  see 
the  articles  displayed,  scarcely  suspecting 
that  anything  stands  between  you  and  the 
interesting  collection. 

Yet  some  people  are  never  satisfied,  and 
there  arose  a  man  in  the  United  States  who 
resolved  to  invent  a  new  kind  of  interview. 
His  name  is  S.  S.  McClure,  and  he  is  the 
owner  and  editor  of  this  Magazine.  I  hope 
I  may  be  allowed  to  praise  or  abuse  a  man 
in  his  own  magazine,  and  I  hereby  give 
him  warning  that  if  he  cuts  out  or  changes 
a  line  of  my  copy  I  will  never  write  another 
word  for  him.  He  may  disclaim  what  I 
say  in  any  other  portion  of  this  periodical, 
if  he  likes,  but  I  alone  am  responsible  for 
this  section.  He  would  have  no  hesitation 
in  asking  Gabriel  to  write  him  an  article  on 
the  latest  thing  in  trumpets,  and  the  re- 
markable thing  is,  he  would  actually  get 
the  manuscript. 

So  one  day  S.  S.  McClure  invented  what 
he  thought  was  a  new  style  of  interview, 
which  he  patented  under  the  title  of  "  Real 
Conversations."  The  almanac  of  the  fut- 
ure, which  sprinkles  choice  bits  of  informa- 
tion among  weather  predictions  and  signs 
of  the  zodiac,  will  have  this  line:  "  April 
14,  1893 — Real  Conversations  invented  by 
S.  S.  McClure." 

Yet  the  idea  was  not  new ;  we  all  have 
practiced  it  as  boys.  We  got  two  dogs  to- 
gether who  held  different  opinions  on  social 
matters,  and  urged  them  to  discuss  the 
question,  while  we  stood  by  and  enjoyed 
the  argument.  This  is  what  McClure  now 
does  with  two  writers,  and  the  weapon  in 
the  Real  Conversation,  as  in  the  dog-fight, 
is  the  jaw. 

The  only  fault  that  I  have  to  find  with 
these  Real  Conversations  is  that  they  are 
not  conversations,  and  that  they  cannot  be 
real.  Try  to  imagine  two  sane  men  sitting 
down  deliberately  to  talk  for  publication  ! 
Only  a  master  mind  could  have  conceived 
such  a  situation — a  mind  like  that  of  Mr. 
McClure,  accustomed  to  accomplishing  the 
impossible.  Now,  if  he  were  to  station  a 


shorthand  reporter  behind  a  screen,  as 
Louis  XI.  placed  Quentin  Durward  when 
the  king  interviewed  the  Count  of  Creve- 
cceur,  he  might  perhaps  get  a  Real  Con- 
versation, but  otherwise  I  don't  see  how  it 
is  to  be  done. 

To  show  the  practical  difficulties  that 
meet  a  Real  Conversationalist  at  the  very 
beginning,  I  pulled  out  my  note-book  and 
pencil,  and,  looking  across  at  my  victim, 
solemnly  said  : 

"  Now,  Conan  Doyle,  talk." 
•  Instead  of  complying  with  my  most  rea- 
sonable request,  the  novelist  threw  back 
his  head  and  laughed,  and,  impressed  as  I 
was  with  the  momentousness  of  the  occa- 
sion, so  hearty  and  infectious  is  his  laugh 
that  after  a  few  moments  I  was  compelled 
to  join  him. 

We  had  looted  two  comfortable  wicker 
chairs  from  the  house,  and  were  seated  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  long"  lawn  that 
stretches  from  the  Doyle  residence  towards 
the  city  of  London.  It  is  one  of  those 
smooth,  exceedingly  green,  velvety  lawns 
to  be  found  only  in  England,  yet  easy  of 
manufacture  there  ;  for,  as  the  Oxford 
gardener  said  to  the  American  visitor,  all 
you  have  to  do  is  to  leave  the  lawn  out- 
doors for  five  hundred  years  or  so,  cutting 
and  rolling  it  frequently,  and  there  you 
are.  Little,  white,  hard  rubber  golf  balls 
lay  about  on  the  grass,  like  croquet  balls 
that  had  shrunk  from  exposure  to  the 
weather.  Mr.  Doyle  is  a  golf  inebriate, 
and  practices  on  this  lawn,  landing  the 
balls  in  a  tub  when  he  makes  the  right  sort 
of  a  hit,  and  generally  breaking  a  window 
when  he  doesn't. 

I  put  away  my  note-book  and  pencil. 

"  I  have  a  proposal  to  make,"  I  said. 
"  You  and  I  have  frequently  set  the  world 
right,  and  solved  all  the  problems,  with  no 
magazine  editor  to  make  us  afraid.  We 
have  talked  in  your  garden  and  in  mine,  at 
your  hospitable  board  and  at  mine,  at  your 
club  and  at  mine,  on  your  golf  ground  and 
— yes,  I  remember  now,  I  haven't  one  of 
my  own  ;  now  I  know  your  views  on  things 
pretty  well,  so  I  will  '  fake  '  a  Real  Con- 
versation, as  we  say  in  the  States." 

"  But  that  wouldn't  be  quite  fair  to  Mc- 
Clure's  readers,  would  it  ? "  objected  Doyle, 
who  is  an  honest  man  and  has  never  had 
the  advantage  of  a  newspaper  training.  "  I 
read  all  of  those  Real  Conversations  in  the 
magazine,  and  I  thought  them  most  inter- 
esting. The  idea  seems  to  me  a  good  one." 

"  Now  that  ought  to  show  you  how  easy 
it  will  be  for  me  to  make  up  a  Real  Conver- 
sation with  you.  Your  opinion  and  mine 


A.    CON  AN   DOYLE  AND  ROBERT  BARR. 


191 


are  always  the  opposite  of  each  other. 
All  I  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  re- 
member what  I  thought  on  any  subject, 
then  write  something  entirely  different,  and 
I  would  have  Conan  Doyle.  That  proves 
to  me  the  hollowness  of  the  other  inter- 
views McClure  has  published.  Howells 
agreed  with  Boyesen,  Hamlin  Garland 
agreed  with  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  and 
so  on  all  along  the  line.  This  isn't  natural. 
No  literary  man  ever  agrees  with  any  other 
literary  man.  He  sometimes  pretends  to 


to  attain ;  his  criticism,  even  if  severe, 
would  be  helpful  and  intelligent.  A 
schoolboy,  on  the  other  hand,  seems  to 
give  his  verdict  on  a  book  by  intuition,  but 
he  rarely  makes  a  mistake.  See  how  the 
schoolboys  of  the  world  have  made  "  Treas- 
ure Island  "  their  own.  Of  course,  I  would 
not  expect  an  accurate  estimate  of  "  Robert 
Elsmere  "  from  a  schoolboy. 

Barr.  I  suppose  an  author  would  hardly 
like  to  slate  another  author's  work — pub- 
licly. Besides,  he  would  be  compelled,  as 


A  CORNER  OF  DR.  DOYLE'S  DRAWING  ROOM.   FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  BY  ELLIOTT  &  FRY,  BAKER  STREET,  LONDON,  W. 


like  the  books  another  fellow  has  written, 
but  that  is  all  humbug.  He  doesn't  in  his 
heart ;  he  knows  he  could  have  done  them 
better  himself." 

"  Oh,  you're  all  wrong  there  ;  all  wrong 
— entirely  wrong!  Now,  if  I  had  to  choose 
my  critics,  I  would  choose  my  fellow- 
workers,  or  schoolboys." 

"Just  what  I  said.  You  are  placing  the 
other  authors  on  a  level  with  schoolboys  ! 
That  is  worse  than " 

Doyle.  Listen  to  me.  A  fellow-  author 
knows  the  difficulties  I  have  to  contend 
with  ;  he  appreciates  the  effect  I  am  trying 


a  matter  of  self-protection,  to  keep  up  the 
pretence  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  lit- 
erature in  England  at  the  present  moment. 
But  there  is  Mr.  Howells,  who  has  no  Eng- 
lish axe  to  grind,  and  he,  from  the  calm, 
serene,  unprejudiced  atmosphere  of  New 
York,  frankly  admits  that  literature  in 
England  is  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  that  the 
authors  of  to-day  do  not  understand  even 
the  rudiments  of  their  business.  Of  course 
you  agree  with  him? 

Doyle.  I  think  there  never  was  a  time 
when  there  was  a  better  promise.  There 
are  at  least  a  dozen  men  and  women  who 


192 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


have  made  a  deep  mark,  and  who  are 
still  young.  No  one  can  say  how  far 
they  may  go.  Some  of  them  are  sure 
to  develop,  for  the  past  shows  us  that 
fiction  is  an  art  which  improves  up  to 
the  age  of  fifty  or  so.  With  fuller 
knowledge  of  life  comes  greater  power 
in  describing  it. 

Barr,  A  dozen !  You  always  were 
a  generous  man,  Doyle.  Who  are  the 
talented  twelve,  so  that  I  may  cable 
to  Howells  ? 

Doyle.  There  are  more  than  a  dozen 
— Barrie,  Kipling,  Mrs.  Olive  Schrein- 
er,  Sarah  Grand,  Miss  Harraden, 
Gilbert  Parker,  Quiller-Couch,  Hall 
Caine,  Stevenson,  Stanley  Weyman, 
Anthony  Hope,  Crockett,  Rider  Hag- 
gard, Jerome,  Zangwill,  Clark  Russell, 
George  Moore — many  of  them  under 
thirty  and  few  of  them  much  over 
it.  There  are  others,  of  course. 
These  names  just  happen  to  occur 
to  me. 


r 


< 


\ 


SHERLOCK   HOLMES.       FROM    A  PHOTOGRAPH    OF   A   BUST   BY   WILKINS. 


<.  JOSEPH  BELL,  THE  ORIGINAL  OF  SHERLOCK 
HOLMES.  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  BY  A.  SWAN 
WATSON,  EDINBURGH. 

Barr.  You  think  a  man  im- 
proves up  to  fifty  ? 

Doyle.  Certainly,  if  he  keeps 
out  of  a  groove  and  refuses  to 
do  his  work  in  a  mechanical  way. 
Why,  many  of  the  greatest  writers 
in  our  fiction  did  not  begin  until 
after  forty.  Thackeray  was  about 
forty.  Scott  was  past  forty. 
Charles  Reade  and  George  Eliot 
were  as  much.  Richardson  was 
fifty.  To  draw  life,  one  must 
know  it. 

Barr.  My  experience  is  that 
when  a  man  is  fifty  he  knows  he 
will  improve  until  he  is  sixty,  and 
when  he  is  sixty  he  feels  that  im- 
provement will  keep  right  on  until 
he  is  seventy  ;  whereas,  when  he 
is  twenty  he  thinks  that  perhaps  he 
will  know  more  when  he  is  thirty, 
but  is  not  sure.  Man  is  an  amus- 
ing animal.  Now  I  would  like  an 
American  dozen,  if  you  don't 
mind. 

Doyle.  I  have  not  read  a  book 
for  a  long  time  that  has  stirred 
me  as  much  as  Miss  Wilkins's 
"  Pembroke."  I  think  she  is  a 
very  great  writer.  It  is  always 


A.    CON  AN  DOYLE  AND   ROBERT  BARR. 


risky  to  call  a  recent  book  a 
this  one  really  seems  to  me  to 
characteristic  of  one. 

Barr.  Well? 

Doyle.  Well  ! 

Barr.  That    is   only   one. 
read  American  fiction  ? 


classic,  but    very  superficial  things,  and  good  old  human 
have  every    nature    is   always  there    under   a  coat   of 
varnish.     When  one  hears  of  a  literature 
of  the  West  or  of  the  South,  it  sounds  ag- 
gressively sectional. 

Don't    you        Barr.   Sectional  ?     If  it  comes  to  that, 
who  could  be  more  sectional  than  Hardy  or 


Doyle.  Not  as  much   as  I    should  wish,    Barrie — the  one  giving  us  the  literature  of 


DR.    DOYLE   IN    HIS   STUDY.      FROM   A   PHOTOGRAPH    BY    FRADELLE  &   YOUNG,    246   REGENT   STREET,    LONDON,    W. 


but  what  I  have  read  has,  I  hope,  been 
fairly  representative.  I  know  Cable's  work 
and  Eugene  Field's  and  Hamlin  Garland's 
and  Edgar  Fawcett's  and  Richard  Harding 
Davis's.  I  think  Harold  Frederic's  "  In 
the  Valley  "  is  one  of  the  best  of  recent 
historical  romances.  The  danger  for  Amer- 
ican fiction  is,  I  think,  that  it  should  run  in 
many  brooks  instead  of  one  broad  stream. 
There  is  a  tendency  to  overaccentuate 
local  peculiarities  ;  differences,  after  all,  are 


a  county  and  the  other  of  a  village  ?  You 
know  that  a  person  in  a  neighboring  village 
said  of  Barrie,  that  he  was  "  no  sae  bad  fur 
a  Kerrimuer  man."  When  you  speak  of  a 
section  in  America,  you  must  not  forget  it 
may  be  a  bit  of  land  as  big  as  France. 

Doyle.  Barrie  and  Hardy  have  gained 
success  by  showing  how  the  Scotch  or 
Wessex  peasant  shares  our  common  human 
nature,  not  by  accentuating  the  points  in 
which  they  differ  from  us. 


194 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


DR.  DOYLE'S  ICELAND  FALCON. 

Barr.  Well,  I  think  Howells  is  demol- 
ished. What  do  you  think  of  him  and  of 
James  ? 

Doyle.  James,  I  think,  has  had  a  great 
and  permanent  influence  upon  fiction.  His 
beautiful  clear-cut  style  and  his  artistic 
restraint  must  affect  every  one  who  reads 
him.  I'm  sure  his  "  Portrait  of  a  Lady  " 
was  an  education  to  me,  though  one  has 
not  always  the  wit  te  profit  by  one's  edu- 
cation. 

Barr.  Yes  ;  James  is  a  writer  of  whom 
you  English  people  ought  to  be  proud.  I 
wish  we  had  an  American  like  him.  Still, 
thank  goodness,  we  have  our  William  Dean 
Howells.  I  love  Howells  so  much  that  I 
feel  sure  you  must  have  something  to  say 
against  him  ;  what  is  it  ? 

Doyle.  I  admire  his  honest,  earnest  work, 
but  I  do  not  admire  his  attitude  towards 
all  writers  and  critics  who  happen  to  differ 


,  from  his  school.  One  can  like 
Valdes  and  Bourget  and  Miss 
Austen  without  throwing  stones  at 
Scott  and  Thackeray  and  Dickens. 
There  is  plenty  of  room  for  all. 

Barr.  But  there  is  the  question 
of  art. 

Doyle.  We  talk  so  much  about 
art,  that  we  tend  to  forget  what 
this  art  was  ever  invented  for.  It 
was  to  amuse  mankind — to  help 
the  sick  and  the  dull  and  the  weary. 
If  Scott  and  Dickens  have  done 
this  for  millions,  they  have  done 
well  by  their  art. 

Barr.  You  don't  think,  then, 
that  the  object  of  all  fiction  is  to 
draw  life  as  it  is  ? 

Doyle.  Where  would  Gulliver 
and  Don  Quixote  and  Dante  and 
Goethe  be,  if  that  were  so?  No  ; 
the  object  of  fiction  is  to  interest, 
and  the  best  fiction  is  that  which 
interests  most.  If  you  can  inter- 
est by  drawing  life  as  it  is,  by  all 
means  do  so.  But  there  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  object  to 
your  neighbor  using  other  means. 
Barr.  You  do  not  approve  of 
the  theological  novel  then? 

Doyle.  Oh  yes,  I  do,  if  it  is 
made  interesting.  I  think  the  age 
of  fiction  is  coming — the  age  when 
religious  and  social  and  political 
changes  will  all  be  effected  by 
means  of  the  novelist.  Look, 
within  recent  years,  how  much 
has  been  done  by  such  books  as 
"Looking  Backward"  or  "Rob- 
ert Elsmere."  Everybody  is  edu- 
cated now,  but  comparatively  few  are  very 
educated.  To  get  an  idea  to  penetrate 
to  the  masses  of  the  people,  you  must 
put  fiction  round  it,  like  sugar  round  a  pill. 
No  statesman  and  no  ecclesiastic  will  have 
the  influence  on  public  opinion  which  the 
novelist  of  the  future  will  have.  If  he  has 
strong  convictions,  he  will  have  wonderful 
facilities  for  impressing  them  on  others. 
Still  his  first  business  will  always  be  to 
interest.  If  he  can't  get  his  sugar  right, 
people  will  refuse  his  pill. 

At  this  point  nature  revolted.  She 
thought  the  subject  too  dry,  and  she  pro- 
ceeded to  wet  it  down.  A  black  thunder- 
cloud came  up  over  the  Crystal  Palace, 
and  the  first  thing  we  knew  the  shower 
was  upon  us.  Both  of  us,  luckily,  knew 
enough  to  come  in  out  of  the  rain.  Two 
men  hastily  grasped  two  wicker  chairs 
and  bolted  for  the  house,  leaving  litera- 


A.    CON  AN  DOYLE   AND   ROBERT  BARR. 


'95 


ture  to    take    care   of    itself    in    the  back 
garden. 

Conan  Doyle's  study,  workshop,  and 
smoking-room  is  a  nice  place  in  a  down- 
pour, and  I  can  recommend  the  novelist's 
brand  of  cigarettes.  Show  me  the  room 
in  which  a  man  works,  and  I'll  show  you 
— how  to  smoke  his  cigarettes.  The  work- 
bench stands  in  the  corner — one  of  those 
flat-topped  desks  so  prevalent  in  England. 
The  English  author  does  not  seem  to  take 


kindly  to  the  haughty,  roller-top  American 
desk,  covered  with  transparent  varnish  and 
twenty-three  patents. 

There  is  a  bookcase,  filled  with  solid 
historical  volumes  for  the  most  part.  The 
most  remarkable  feature  of  the  room  is  a 
series  of  water-color  drawings  done  by 
Conan  Doyle's  father.  The  Doyle  family 
has  always  been  a  family  of  artists,  and 
the  celebrated  cover  of  "  Punch "  is,  as 
everybody  knows,  the  work  of  Dicky  Doyle.^ 


ROBERT     BARR    AT     HIS     DESK     IN     THE  "  IDLER  "  OFFICE.       FROM     A     PHOTOGRAPH     BY    FRADELLE  &  YOUNG,    246  REGENT    STREET, 

LONDON,    W. 


196 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


The  drawings  by  Mr.  Doyle's  father  are 
most  weird  and  imaginative,  being  in  art 
something  like  what  Edgar  Allan  Poe's 
stories  are  in  fiction. 

There  are  harpoons  on  the  wall,  for 
Doyle  has  been  a  whale  fisher  in  his  time, 
and  has  the  skull  of  a  polar  bear  and  the 
stuffed  body  of  an  Iceland  falcon  to  show 
that  his  aim  was  accurate.  There  are  but 
two  other  Iceland  falcons  in  England. 
The  novelist  came  nearer  to  the  North 
Pole  than  New  York  is  to  Chicago,  and  it 
has  always  struck  me  as  strange  that  he 
did  not  take  a  sleeping-car  and  go  through 
to  the  Pole  and  spend  a  night  there.  But 
he  was  young  then  and  let  opportunities 
slip.  He  spent  his  twenty-first  birthday 
within  the  Arctic  Circle. 

Here  are  three  stories  of  his  Arctic  ex- 
periences. You  see,  I  am  going  to  sugar- 
coat  the  Real  Conversation. 

The  whaler  sailed  from  Peterhead,  and 
the  crew  were  Scotsmen  with  one  excep- 
tion. Doyle  was  supposed  to  be  the  sur- 
geon of  the  craft.  He  brought  two  pairs 
of  boxing-gloves  with  him,  and  one  of  the 
men,  who  was  handy  with  his  fists,  was 
ambitious  to  have  a  bout.  Doyle  accom- 
modated him.  The  man  was  strong,  but 
had  no  science.  Finding  himself  hard 
pressed,  Doyle  struck  out,  and  the  cabin 
table  being  fastened  to  the  floor  with  no 
give  to  it,  the  sailor,  when  he  struck  it 
after  the  blow,  found  his  feet  in  the  air  and 
his  head  on  the  floor  behind  the  table. 

The  man  was  heard  afterwards  to  say  to 
a  companion  in  tones  of  great  admiration  : 

"  Man  !  McAlpine,  yen's  the  best  sur- 
geon we've  ever  had.  He  knocked  me 
clean  ower  th'  table  an'  blacked  ma  e'e." 

Few  men  have  had  such  a  compliment 
paid  to  their  medical  qualifications. 

The  man  who  was  not  a  Scotsman  was 
a  gloomy,  taciturn  person,  popularly  sup- 
posed to  be  a  fugitive  from  justice,  and 
held  in  deep  respect  on  that  account.  He 
went  on  the  principle  that  deeds  speak 
louder  than  words.  On  one  occasion  the 
cook  took  the  liberty  of  being  drunk  for 
three  days.  On  the  third  day  the  mur- 
derer thought  this  had  gone  far,  just  far, 
enough.  The  cooking  was  something 
awful.  He  rose  without  a  word,  seized  a 
long-handled  saucepan  and  brought  it 
down  on  the  cook's  head.  The  bottom  of 
the  pan  broke  like  glass,  and  the  iron  rim 
remained  around  the  astonished  cook's 
neck  like  a  collar.  The  man,  still  without 
a  word,  walked  gloomily  to  his  seat.  There 
was  no  more  bad  cooking  on  that  voyage. 

They  used  to  throw  an  ice-anchor  on  a 


berg  when  they  lay  for  some  hours  beside 
an  ice-field,  and  then  was  the  time  to  take 
a  rise  out  of  the  innocent  polar  bear,  who 
is  not  accustomed  to  the  Peterhead  brand 
of  humor.  They  would  put  all  the  grease, 
bones,  and  galley  refuse  into  the  furnace, 
and  the  scent  of  the  burning  spread  along 
the  Arctic  Circle  for  miles.  In  a  few  hours 
all  the  bears  between  there  and  the  Pole 
would  come  trooping  along  with  noses  high 
in  the  air,  wondering  where  the  banquet 
was.  When  they  read  the  signal,  "April 
Fool,"  flagged  from  the  mast-head,  the 
bears  grunted  and  trudged  off  home  again. 

Conan  Doyle  is  not  a  man  who  goes  to 
extremes,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  he  did 
in  the  matter  of  his  voyaging.  He  came 
home  from  the  Arctic  Circle,  took  his  de- 
gree at  Edinburgh,  and  at  once  shipped  for 
the  west  African  coast. 

Here  is  a  tragedy  of  the  sea  which  oc- 
curred when  Doyle  was  a  boy.  He  read 
an  account  of  it  at  the  time,  and  it  made  a 
powerful  impression  on  his  young  mind. 
An  American  ship  called  the  "  Marie  Ce- 
leste "  was  found  abandoned  off  the  west 
coast.  Nothing  on  her  was  disturbed,  and 
there  were  no  signs  of  a  struggle.  Her 
cargo  was  untouched,  and  there  was  no  evi- 
dence that  she  had  come  through  a  storm. 
On  the  cabin  table  was  screwed  a  sewing 
machine,  and  on  the  arm  of  the  sewing 
machine  was  a  spool  of  silk  thread,  which 
would  have  fallen  off  if  there  had  been  any 
motion  of  the  vessel.  She  was  loaded  with 
clocks,  and  her  papers  showed  that  she  left 
Baltimore  for  Lisbon.  She  was  taken  to 
Gibraltar,  but  from  that  day  to  this  no  one 
knows  what  became'  of  the  captain  and 
crew  of  the  "  Marie  Celeste." 

This  mystery  of  the  sea  set  the  future 
Sherlock  Holmes  at  work  trying  to  find  a 
solution  for  it.  There  was  no  clew  to  go 
on,  except  an  old  Spanish  sword  found  in 
the  forecastle,  which  showed  signs  of  hav- 
ing been  recently  cleaned.  Doyle's  solu- 
tion of  the  problem  appeared  in  the  form 
of  a  story  for  the  "Cornhill  Magazine," 
entitled,  "  J.  Habbakuk  Jephson's  State- 
ment." Jephson  was  supposed  to  be  an 
American  doctor  who  had  taken  passage 
on  the  ship  for  his  health.  Shortly  after 
the  story  appeared,  the  following  telegram 
was  printed  in  all  the  London  papers  : 

"  Solly  Flood,  Her  Majesty's  advocate- 
general  at  Gibraltar,  telegraphs  that  the 
statement  of  J.  Habbakuk  Jephson  is  noth- 
ing less  than  a  fabrication." 

Which  indeed  it  was ;  but  the  telegram 
was  a  compliment  to  the  realism  of  the 
story,  to  say  the  least. 


A.   CON  AN  DOYLE  AND  ROBERT  BARR. 


197 


On  the  bookcase  in  the  study  there 
stands  a  bust  of  a  man  with  a  keen,  shrewd 
face. 

"  Who  is  the  statesman  ?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  that  is  Sherlock  Holmes,"  said 
Doyle.  "A  young  sculptor  named  Wil- 
kins,  from  Birmingham,  sent  it  to  me. 
Isn't  it  good?" 

"  Excellent.  By  the  way,  is  Sherlock 
Holmes  really  dead  ?  " 


"  Doyle,  I  have  known  you  now  for  seven 
years,  and  I  know  you  thoroughly.  I  am 
going  to  say  something  to  you  that  you 
will  remember  in  after  life.  Doyle,  you 
will  never  come  to  any  good  !  " 

The  making  of  an  historical  novel  in- 
volves much  hard  reading.  The  results  of 
this  hard  reading,  Doyle  sets  down  in  a 
note-book.  Sometimes  all  he  gets  out  of 
several  volumes  is  represented  by  a  couple 


Robert  Barr. 


Miss  Doyle.  Conan  Doyle. 

A  GROUP  IN  DR.  DOYLE'S  GARDEN. 


Mrs.  Doyle.        Robert  McClure. 


"Yes;  I  shall  never  write  another 
Holmes  story." 

Dr.  Conan  Doyle  is  a  methodical  worker, 
and  a  hard  worker.  He  pastes  up  over 
his  mantel-shelf  a  list  of  the  things  he  in- 
tends to  do  in  the  coming  six  months,  and 
he  sticks  to  his  task  until  it  is  done.  He 
must  be  a  great  disappointment  to  his  old 
teacher.  When  he  had  finished  school  the 
teacher  called  the  boy  up  before  him  and 
said  solemnly  : 


of  pages  in  this  book.  In  turning  over  the 
most  recent  pages  I  saw  much  about  Na- 
poleon, and  I  knew  that  some  marvellously 
good  short  stories  which  Doyle  has  re- 
cently written,  are  set  in  the  stormy  period 
of  Napoleon's  time. 

"I  suppose  you  are  an  admirer  of  that 
unscrupulous  ruffian?  "  I  said  gently. 

"  He  was  a  wonderful  man — perhaps  the 
most  wonderful  man  who  ever  lived.  What 
strikes  me  is  the  lack  of  finality  in  his 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


CONAN  DOYLE  AT  4  YEARS  OF  AGE. 


CONAN  DOYLE  AT  14. 


CONAN  DOYLE  AT  22. 


CONAN  DOYLE  AT  28. 


A.  CON  AN  DOYLE  AND  ROBERT  BARR. 


199 


character.  When 
you  make  up  your 
mind  that  he  is  a 
complete  villain,  you 
come  on  some  noble 
trait ;  and  then  your 
admiration  of  this  is 
lost  in  some  act  of 
incredible  meanness. 
But  just  think  of  it ! 
Here  was  a  young 
fellow  of  thirty,  a 
man  who  had  had 
no  social  advantages 
and  but  slight  edu- 
cational training,  a 
member  of  a  pov- 
erty-stricken family, 
entering  a  room 
with  a  troop  of  kings 
at  his  heels,  and  all 
the  rest  of  them 
jealous  if  he  spoke 
a  moment  longer  to 
one  than  to  the 
others.  Then,  there  must  have  been  a  great 
personal  charm  about  the  man,  for  some  of 
those  intimate  with  him  loved  him.  His 
secretary,  Meneval,  writes  of  him  with  al- 
most doting  affection." 

"  Yes ;  and  then  a  dealer  in  fiction  must 
bow  down  to  Napoleon  as  the  most  accom- 
plished liar  that  ever  lived." 

"  Oh,  no  one  could  ever  compete  with 
him  in  that  line.  If  he  intended  to  invade 
Africa,  he  would  give  out  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  Russia  ;  then  he  would  tell  his  inti- 


CONAN    UOVLE    AT    THE    PRESENT    TIME. 


mates  in  strict  con- 
fidence that  Ger- 
many was  the  spot 
he  had  his  eye  on  ; 
and  finally  he  would 
whisper  in  the  ear  of 
his  most  confidential 
secretary'that  Spain 
was  the  point  of  at- 
tack. He. was  cer- 
tainly an  amazing 
and  talented  liar." 

"  Do  you  think 
his  power  in  this  di- 
rection was  the  se- 
cret of  his  success, 
and  is  lying  a  virtue 
you  would  advise  us 
all  to  cultivate  ? " 

"  The  secret  of  his 
success  seems  to  me 
to  have  been  his 
ability  to  originate 
gigantic  schemes 
that  seemed  fantas- 
tic and  impossible,  while  his  mastery  of  de- 
tail enabled  him  to  bring  his  projects  to 
completion  where  any  other  man  would  have 
failed." 

At  the  time  this  appears  in  print,  Dr. 
Conan  Doyle  will  be  in  America.  He  goes 
there  ostensibly  to  deliver  the  series  of 
lectures  that  has  been  so  successful  in  Eng- 
land, but  the  real  object  of  his  visit  is  to 
see  the  country.  This  is  a  laudable  ambi- 
tion, and  I  hope  the  United  States  and 
Conan  Doyle  will  mutually  like  each  other. 


EUGENE    FIELD    AND    HAMLIN    GARLAND. 


A    CONVERSATION". 
RECORDED   BY    HAMLIX   GARLAND. 


ONE  afternoon  quite  recently  two  men 
sat  in  an  attic  study  in  one  of  the 
most  interesting  homes  in  the  city  of  Chi- 
cago,— a  home  that  was  a  museum  of  old 
books,  rare  books,  Indian  relics,  dramatic 
souvenirs  and  bric-a-brac  indescribable,  but 
each  piece  with  a  history. 

It  was  a  beautiful  June  day,  and  the  study 
window  looked  out  upon  a  lawn  of  large 
trees  where  children  were  rioting.  It  was 
a  part  of  Chicago  which  the  traveller 
never  sees,  green  and  restful  and  dignified, 
the  lake  not  far  off. 

The  host  was  a  tall,  thin-haired  man  with 
a  New  England  face  of  the  Scotch  type, 
rugged,  smoothly  shaven,  and  generally 
very  solemn — suspiciously  solemn  in  ex- 
pression. His  infrequent  smile  curled  his 
wide,  expressive  mouth  in  fantastic  gri- 
maces which  seemed  not  to  affect  the  steady 
gravity  of  the  blue-gray  eyes.  He  was 
stripped  to  his  shirt-sleeves  and  sat  with 
feet  on  a  small  stand.  He  chewed  reflec- 
tively upon  a  cigar  during  the  opening  of 
the  talk.  His  voice  was  deep,  but  rather 
dry  in  quality. 

The  other  man  was  a  rather  heavily  built 
man,  with  brown  hair  and  beard  cut  rather 
close.  He  listened,  mainly,  going  off  into 
gusts  of  laughter  occasionally  as  the  other 
man  gave  a  quaint  turn  to  some  very  frank 
phrase.  The  tall  host  was  Eugene  Field, 
the  interviewer  a  Western  writer  by  the 
name  of  Garland. 

"Well,  now,  brother  Field," 
said  Garland,  interrupting  his 
host  as  he  was  about  to  open  an- 
other case  of  rare  books,  "  you 
remember  I'm  to  interview  you 
to-day." 

Field  scowled  savagely. 

"  Oh,  say,  Garland,  can't  we  put 
that  thing  off  ?" 

"  No.  Must  be  did,"  replied  his 
friend  decisively.  "  Now,  there 
are  two  ways  to  do  this  thing.  We 
can  be  as  literary  and  as  delicious- 
ly  select  in  our  dialogue  as  Mr. 
Howells  and  Professor  Boyesen 
were,  or  we  can  be  wild  and  woolly. 
How  would  it  do  to  be  as  wild  and 
14 


woolly  as  those  Eastern  fellers  expect  us 
to  be  ?" 

"  All  right,"  said  Field,  taking  his  seat  well 
up  on  the  smal  1  of  his  back.  "  What  does  it 
all  mean,  anyway  ?  What  you  goin'  to  do  ?  " 

"  I'm  goin'  to  take  notes  while  we  talk, 
and  I'm  goin'  to  put  this  thing  down  pretty 
close  to  the  fact,  now,  you  bet,"  said  Gar- 
land, sharpening  a  pencil. 

"Where  you  wan'  to  begin  ?" 

"  Oh,  we'll  have  to  begin  with  your  an- 
cestry, though  it's  a  good  deal  like  the 
introductory  chapter  to  the  old-fashioned 
novels.  We'll  start  early  ;  with  your  birth, 
for  instance." 

"  Well,  I  was  born  in  St.  Louis." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  The  interviewer  showed  an 
unprofessional  surprise.  "Why,  I  thought 
you  were  born  in  Massachusetts." 

"No,"  said  Field,  reflectively.  "No.  I'm 
sorry,  of  course,  but  I  was  born  in  St.  Louis  ; 
but  my  parents  were  Vermont  people."  He 
mentioned  this  as  an  extenuating  circum- 
stance, evidently.  "My  father  was  a  law- 
yer. He  was  a  precocious  boy, — graduated 
from  Middlebury  College  when  he  was 
fifteen,  and  when  he  was  nineteen  was  made 
State's  Attorney  by  special  act  of  the  legis- 
lature; without  that  he  would  have  had  to 
wait  until  he  was  twenty-one.  He  married 
and  came  West,  and  I  was  born  in  1850." 

"  So  you're  forty-three  ?  Where  does  the 
New  England  life  come  in  ?" 


THE    FIELD    HOMESTEAD    AT    FAYETTEVILLE,    VERMONT. 


202 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS, 


"  When  I  was  seven  years  old  my  mother 
died,  and  father  packed  us  boys  right  off 
to  Massachusetts  and  put  us  under  the  care 
of  a  maiden  cousin,  a  Miss  French, — she 
was  a  fine  woman,  too." 

Garland  looked  up  from  his  scratch-pad 
to  ask,  "  This  was  at  Amherst  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  stayed  there  until  I  was  nine- 
teen, and  they  were  the  sweetest  and  finest 
days  of  my  life.  I  like  old  Amherst."  He 
paused  a  moment,  and  his  long  face  slowly 
lightened  up.  "  By  the  way,  here's  some- 
thing you'll  like.  When  I  was  nine  years 
old  father  sent  us  up  to  Fayetteville,  Ver- 
mont, to  the  old  homestead  where  my 
grandmother  lived.  We  stayed  there  seven 
months,"  he  said  with  a  grim  curl  of  his 
lips,  "  and  the  old  lady  got  all  the  grand- 
son she  wanted.  She  didn't  want  the  visit 
repeated." 

He  sat  a  moment  in  silence,  and  his  face 
softened  and  his  eyes  grew  tender.  "  I  tell 
you,  Garland,  a  man's  got  to  have  a  layer 
of  country  experience  somewhere  in  him. 
My  love  for  nature  dates  from  that  visit, 
because  I  had  never  lived  in  the  country 
before.  Sooner  or  later  a  man  rots  if  he 
lives  too  far  away  from  the  grass  and  the 
trees." 

"You're  right  there,  Field,  only  I  didn't 
know  you  felt  it  so  deeply.  I  supposed  you 
hated  farm  life." 

"  I  do  ;  but  farm  life  is  not  nature.  I'd 
like  to  live  in  the  country  without  the 
effects  of  work  and  dirt  and  flies.'' 

The  word  "  flies "  started  him  off  on  a 
side-track.  "  Say !  You  should  see  my 
boys.  I  go  up  to  a  farm  near  Fox  Lake 
and  stay  a  week  every  year,  suffering  all 
sorts  of  tortures,  in  order  to  give  my  boys 
a  chance  to  see  farm  life.  I  sit  there  nights 
trying  to  read  by  a  vile-smelling  old  kero- 
sene lamp,  the  flies  trooping  in  so  that  you 
can't  keep  the  window  down,  you  know,  and 
those  boys  lying  there  all  the  time  on  a  hot 
husk  bed,  faces  spattered  with  mosquito 
bites,  and  sweating  like  pigs — and  happy 
as  angels.  The  roar  of  the  flies  and  mos- 
quitoes is  sweetest  lullaby  to  a  tired  boy." 

"  Well,  now,  going  back  to  that  visit," 
said  the  interviewer  with  persistency  to  his 
plan. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Well,  my  grandmother  was  a 
regular  old  New  England  Congregation- 
alist.  Say,  I've  got  a  sermon  I  wrote  when 
I  was  nine.  The  old  lady  used  to  give  me 
ten  cents  for  every  sermon  I'd  write.  Like 
to  see  it  ? " 

"  Well,  I  should  say.  A  sermon  at  nine 
years  !  Field,  you  started  in  well." 

"Didn't  I?"   he   replied,  while  getting 


the  book.  "  And  you  bet  it's  a  corker." 
He  produced  the  volume,  which  was  a 
small  bundle  of  note-paper  bound  beauti- 
fully. It  was  written  in  a  boy's  formal 
hand.  He  sat  down  to  read  it  : 

"  I  would  remark  secondly  that  conscience  makes 
the  way  of  transgressors  hard  ;  for  every  act  of  pleas- 
ure, every  act  of  Guilt  his  conscience  smites  him. 
The  last  of  his  stay  on  earth  will  appear  horrible  to 
the  beholder.  Some  times,  however,  he  will  be 
stayed  in  his  guilt.  A  death  in  a  family  of  some 
favorite  object  or  be  attacked  by  Some  disease  him- 
self is  brought  to  the  portals  of  the  grave.  Then  for 
a  little  time  perhaps  he  is  stayed  in  his  wickedness, 
but  before  long  he  returns  to  his  worldly  lust.  Oh, 
it  is  indeed  bad  for  sinners  to  go  down  into  perdition 
over  all  the  obstacles  which  God  has  placed  in  his 
path.  But  many  I  am  afraid  do  go  down  into  perdi- 
ti^n,  for  wide  gate  and  broad  is  the  way  that  leadeth 
to  destruction  and  many  there  be  that  go  in  thereat." 

He  stopped  occasionally  to  look  at  Gar- 
land gravely,  as  he  read  some  particularly 
comical  phrase  :  "  '  I  secondly  remark  '- 
ain't  that  great  ? — '  that  the  wise  man  re- 
members even  how  near  he  is  to  the  por- 
tals of  death.'  '  Portals  of  death  '  is  good. 
'  One  should  strive  to  walk  the  narrow 
way  and  not  the  one  which  leads  to  perdi- 
tion.' I  was  heavy  on  quotations,  you 
notice." 

"  Is  this  the  first  and  last  of  your  ser- 
mons ?  "  queried  Garland,  with  an  amused 
smile. 

"  The  first  and  last.  Grandmother  soon 
gave  me  up  as  bad  material  for  a  preacher. 
She  paid  me  five  dollars  for  learning  the 
Ten  Commandments.  I  used  to  be  very 
slow  at  '  committing  to  memory.'  I  recall 
that  while  I  was  thus  committing  the  book 
of  Acts,  my  brother  committed  that  book 
and  the  Gospel  of  Matthew,  part  of  John,, 
the  thirteenth  chapter  of  First  Corinthians,, 
and  the  Westminster  Catechism.  I  would 
not  now  exchange  for  any  amount  of 
money  the  acquaintance  with  the  Bible  that 
was  drummed  into  me  when  I  was  a  boy. 
At  learning  '  pieces  to  speak  '  I  was,  how- 
ever, unusually  quick,  and  my  favorites 
were  :  '  Marco  Bozzaris,'  '  Psalm  of  Life,' 
Drake's  '  American  Flag,'  Longfellow's 
'  Launching  of  the  Ship,'  Webster's  'Action,' 
Shakespeare's  'Clarence's  Dream'  (Rich- 
ard III.),  and  'Wolsey  to  Cromwell,' 
'  Death  of  Virginia,'  '  Horatius  at  the 
Bridge,'  '  Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns,' 
'Absalom,'  '  Lochiel's  Warning,'  'Mac- 
lean's Revenge,'  Bulwer's  translation  of 
Schiller's  'The  Diver,'  'Landing  of  the 
Pilgrims,'  Bryant's  'Melancholy  Days,' 
'  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore,'  and  '  Hohen- 
linden.' 

"  I  remember  when  I  was  thirteen   our 


EUGENE  FIELD  AND  HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


203 


EUGENE  FIELD'S  HOME  AT  BUENA  PARK,  CHICAGO. 


cousin  said  she'd  give  us  a  Christmas  tree. 
So  we  went  down  into  Patrick's  swamp — 
I  suppose  the  names  are  all  changed  now 
— and  dug  up  a  little  pine  tree  about  as 
tall  as  we  were,  and  planted  it  in  a  tub. 
On  the  night  of  Christmas  Day,  just  when 
we  were  dancing  around  the  tree^  making 
merry  and  having  a  high-old-jinks  of  a 
time,  the  way  children  will,  grandma  came 
in  and  looked  at  us.  '  Will  this  popery 
never  cease  ? '  was  all  she  said,  and  out  she 
flounced." 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  old  Puritan  idea  of 
it.  But  did  live " 

"  Now,  hold  on,"  he  interrupted.  "  I 
want  to  finish.  We  planted  that  tree  near 
the  corner  of  Sunset  Avenue  and  Amity 
Street,  and  it's  there  now,  a  magnificent 
tree.  Some  time  when  I'm  East  I'm  going 
to  go  up  there  with  my  brother  and  put  a 
tablet  on  it — '  Pause,  busy  traveller,  and 
give  a  thought  to  the  happy  days  of  two 
Western  boys  who  lived  in  old  New  Eng- 
land, and  make  resolve  to  render  the  boy- 
hood near  you  happier  and  brighter,'  or 
something  like  that." 

"  That's  a  pretty  idea,"  Garland  agreed. 
He  felt  something  fine  and  tender  in  the 
man's  voice,  which  was  generally  hard  and 
dry,  but  wonderfully  expressive. 

"  Now,  this  sermon  I  had  bound  just  for 
the  sake  of  old  times.  If  I  didn't  have  it 
right  here,  I  wouldn't  believe  I  ever  wrote 
such  stuff.  I  tell  you,  a  boy's  a  queer 
combination,"  he  ended,  referring  to  the 
book  again. 

"  You'll  see  that  I  signed  my  name,  those 
days,  '  E.  P.  Field.'  The  '  P.'  stands  for 
Phillips. 

"As  I  grew  old   enough  to  realize  it,  I 


was  much  chagrined  to  find  I  had  no  mid- 
dle name  like  the  rest  of  the  boys,  so  I 
took  the  name  of  Phillips.  I  was  a  great 
admirer  of  Wendell  Phillips, — am  yet, — 
though  I'm  not  a  reformer.  You'll  see  here," 
— he  pointed  at  the  top  of  the  pages, — "  I 
wrote  the  word  '  sensual.'  Evidently  I  was 
.struck  with  the  word,  and  was  seeking  a 
chance  to  ring  it  in  somewhere,  but  failed." 
They  both  laughed  over  the  matter  while 
Field  put  the  book  back. 

"Are  you  a  college  man?  "asked  Gar- 
land. "  I've  noticed  your  deplorable  ten- 
dency toward  the  classics." 

"  I  fitted  for  college  when  I  was  sixteen. 
My  health  was  bad,  or  I  should  have  en- 
tered right  off.  I  had  pretty  nearly  every- 
thing that  was  going  in  the  way  of  dis- 
eases,"— this  was  said  with  a  comical  twist 
of  the  voice — "  so  I  didn't  get  to  Williams  till 
I  was  eighteen.  My  health  improved  right 
along,  but  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  of  the  col- 
lege did  not."  He  smiled  again,  a  smile 
that  meant  a  very  great  deal. 

"What  happened  then  ?" 

"Well,  my  father  died,  and  I  returned 
West.  I  went  to  live  with  my  guardian, 
Professor  Burgess  of  Knox  College.  This 
college  is  situated  at  Galesburg,  Illinois. 
This  is  the  college  that  has  lately  conferred 
A.  M.  upon  me.  The  professor's  guardian- 
ship was  merely  nominal,  however.  I  did 
about  as  I  pleased. 

"  I  next  went  to  the  State  University  at 
Columbia,  Missouri.  It  was  an  old  slave- 
holding  town,  but  I  liked  it.  I've  got  a 
streak  of  Southern  feeling  in  me."  He 
said  abruptly,  "  I'm  an  aristocrat.  I'm 
looking  for  a  Maecenas.  I  have  mighty 
little  in  common  with  most  of  the  wealthy, 


204 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


money 


but  I  like  the  idea  of  wealth  in  the  ab- 
stract." He  failed  to  make  the  distinction 
quite  clear,  but  he  went  on  as  if  realizing 
that  this  might  be  a  thin  spot  of  ice. 

"  At  twenty-one  I  came  into  sixty 
thousand  dollars,  and  I  went  to  Europe, 
taking  a  friend,  a  young  fellow  of  about 
my  own  age,  with  me.  I  had  a  lovely 
time  !  "  he  added,  and  again  the  smile  con- 
veyed vast  meaning. 

Garland  looked  up  from  his  pad. 

"  You  must  have  had.  Did  you  '  blow  in 
the  whole  business  '  ?  " 

"  Pretty  near.  I  swatted  the 
around.  Just  think  of  it  !"  he  ex- 
claimed, warming  with  the  reco.l- 
lection.  "  A  boy  of  twenty-one, 
without  father  or  mother,  and  sixty 
thousand  dollars.  Oh,  it  was  a 
lovely  combination  !  I  saw  more 
things  and  did  more  things  than 
are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy, 
Horatio,"  he  paraphrased,  looking 
at  his  friend  with  a  strange  ex- 
pression of  amusement  and  pleas- 
ure and  regret.  "  I  had  money.  I 
paid  it  out  for  experience — it  was 
plenty.  Experience  was  lying 
around  loose." 

"  Came  home  when  the  money 
gave  out,  I  reckon  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Came  back  to  St.  Louis, 
and  went  to  work  on  the  'Journal.' 
I  had  previously  tried  to  '  enter 
journalism,'  as  I  called  it  then. 
About  the  time  I  was  twenty-one  I 
went  to  Stilson  Hutchins,  and  told 
him  who  I  was,  and  he  said : 

" '  All  right.  I'll  give  you  a 
chance,  but  we  don't  pay  much.' 
Of  course  I  told  him  pay  didn't 
matter. 

"'Well!'  he  said, 'go  down  to 
the  Olympia,  and  write  up  the  play 
there  to-night.'  I  went  down,  and  I  brought 
most  of  my  critical  acumen  to  bear  upon 
an  actor  by  the  name  of  Charley  Pope, 
who  was  playing  Mercutio  for  Mrs.  D.  P. 
Bowers.  His  wig  didn't  fit,  and  all  my 
best  writing  centred  about  that  wig.  I 
sent  the  critique  in,  blame  fine  as  I 
thought,  with  illuminated  initial  letters, 
and  all  that.  Oh,  it  was  lovely  !  and  the 
next  morning  I  was  deeply  pained  and  dis- 
gusted to  find  it  mutilated, — all  that  about 
the  wig,  the  choicest  part,  was  cut  out.  I 
thought  I'd  quit  journalism  forever.  I 
don't  suppose  Hutchins  connects  Eugene 

Field  with   the fool   that  wrote    that 

critique.     I   don't  myself,"  he  added  with 
a  quick  half-smile  lifting  again  the  corner 


of  his  solemn  mouth.  It  was  like  a  ripple 
on  a  still  pool. 

"  Well,  when  did  you  really  get  into  the 
work?"  his  friend  asked,  for  he  seemed 
about  to  go  off  into  another  by-path. 

"  Oh,  after  1  came  back  from  Europe  I 
was '  busted,'  and  had  to  go  to  work.  I  met 
Stanley  Waterloo  about  that  time,  and  his 
talk  induced  me  to  go  to  work  for  the 
'  Journal '  as  a  reporter.  I  soon  got  to  be 
city  editor,  but  I  didn't  like  it.  I  liked  to 
have  fun  with  people.  I  liked  to  have  my 
fun  as  I  went  along.  About  this  time  I 
married  the  sister  of  the  friend  who  went 


THE    HAI.L. 


with  me  to  Europe,  and,  feeling  my  new 
responsibilities,  I  went  up  to  St.  Joseph  as 
city  editor."  He  mused  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  "  It  was  terrific  hard  work,  but  I 
wouldn't  give  a  good  deal  for  those  two 
years." 

"Have  you  ever  drawn  upon  them  for 
material  ?  "  asked  Garland  with  a  novelist's 
perception  of  their  possibilities. 

"  No,  but  I  may  some  time.  Things 
have  to  get  pretty  misty  before  I  can  use 
'em.  I'm  not  like  you  fellows,"  he  said, 
referring  to  the  realists.  "I  got  thirty 
dollars  a  week  ;  wasn't  that  princely  ?" 

"  Nothing  else  ;  but  you  earned  it,  no 
doubt." 

"Earned  it  ?     Why,  Great  Scott !     I  did 


EUGENE  FIELD   AND  HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


205 


the  whole  business,  except  turning  the  han- 
dle of  the  press. 

"Well,  in  1877  I  was  called  back  to  the 
'  Journal '  in  St.  Louis  as  editorial  writer 
of  paragraphs.  That  was  the  beginning 
of  my  own  line  of  work." 

"  When  did  you  do  your  first  work  in 
verse  ?  "  asked  Garland. 

The  tall  man  brought  his  feet  down  to 
the  floor  with  a  bang,  and  thrust  his  hand 
out  toward  his  friend.  "  There  !  I'm  glad 
you  said  verse.  For  heaven's  sake  don't 
ever  say  I  call  my  stuff  poetry.  I  never 
do.  I  don't  pass  judgment  on  it  like 
that."  After  a  little  he  resumed:  "The 
first  that  I  wrote  was  '  Christmas  Treas- 
ures.' I  wrote  that  one  night  to  fill  in  a 
chink  in  the  paper." 

"  Give  me  a  touch  of  it  ? "  asked  his 
friend. 

He  chewed  his  cigar  in  the  effort  to  re- 
member. "I  don't  read  it  much.  I  put  it 
with  the  collection  for  the  sake  of  old 
times."  He  read  a  few  lines  of  it,  and 
read  it  extremely  well,  before  returning  to 
his  history. 

CHRISTMAS  TREASURES. 

I  count  my  treasures  o'er  with  care, — 
The  little  toy  my  darling  knew, 
A  little  sock  of  faded  hue, 

A  little  lock  of  golden  hair. 

Long  years  ago  this  holy  time, 
My  little  one — my  all  to  me — 
Sat  robed  in  white  upon  my  knee, 

And  heard  the  merry  Christmas  chime. 

"  Tell  me,  my  little  golden-head, 

If  Santa  Claus  should  come  to-night, 
What  shall  he  bring  my  baby  bright, — 

What  treasure  for  my  boy  ?  "  I  said. 


THE    DINING-ROOM. 


A  CORNER    IN   THE    LIBRARY. 


Then  he  named  this  little  toy, 

While  in  his  round  and  mournful  eyes 
There  came  a  look  of  sweet  surprise 

That  spake  his  quiet,  trustful  joy. 

And  as  he  lisped  his  evening  prayer, 
He  asked  the  boon  with  childish  grace, 
Then,  toddling  to  the  chimney-place, 

He  hung  this  little  stocking  there. 

That  night,  while  lengthening  shadows  crept, 
I  saw  the  white-winged  angels  come 
With  singing  to  our  lowly  home, 

And  kiss  my  darling  as  he  slept. 

They  must  have  heard  his  little  prayer, 
P'or  in  the  morn,  with  rapturous  face 
He  toddled  to  the  chimney-place, 

And  found  this  little  treasure  there. 

They  came  again  one  Christmas-tide, — 
That  angel  host  so  fair  and  white  ! 
And,  singing  all  that  glorious  night, 

They  lured  my  darling  from  my  side. 

A  little  sock,  a  little  toy, 

A  little  lock  of  golden  hair, 

The  Christmas  music  on  the  air, 
A  watching  for  my  baby  boy. 

But  if  again  that  angel  train 

And  golden  head  come  back  to  me, 
To  bear  me  to  Eternity, 

My  watching  will  not  be  in  vain. 

"  I  went  next  to  the  Kansas  City 
'  Times '  as  managing  editor.  I  wrote 
there  that  '  Little  Peach,'  which  still  chases 
me  around  the  country." 


THE  LITTLE  PEACH. 

A  little  peach  in  the  orchard  grew, 
A  little  peach  of  emerald  hue  ; 
Warmed  by  the  sun  and  wet  by  the  dew, 
It  grew. 

One  day,  passing  that  orchard  through, 
That  little  peach  dawned  on  the  view 
Of  Johnny  Jones  and  his  sister  Sue, 
Them  two. 


206 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


Up  at  that  peach  a  club  they  threw, 
Down  from  the  stem  on  which  it  grew 
Fell  that  peach  of  emerald  hue. 
Man  Dieit  ! 

John  took  a  bite  and  Sue  a  chew, 
And  then  the  trouble  began  to  brew, 
Trouble  the  doctor  couldn't  subdue. 
Too  true  ! 

Under  the  turf  where  the  daisies  grew 
They  planted  John  and  his  sister  Sue, 
And  their  little  souls  to  the  angels  flew, 
Boo  hoo  ! 

What  of  that  peach  of  the  emerald  hue, 
Warmed  by  the  sun  and  wet  by  the  dew  ? 
Ah,  well,  its  mission  on  earth  is  through. 
Adieu  ! 

"  I  went  to  the  Denver  '  Tribune  '  next, 
and  stayed  there  till  1883.  The  most  con- 
spicuous thing  I  did  there  was  the  bur- 
lesque primer  series.  '  See  the  po-lice-man. 
Has  he  a  club?  Yes,  he  has  a  club,'  etc. 
These  were  so  widely  copied  and  pirated 
that  I  put  them  into  a  little  book  which  is 
very  rare,  thank  heaven  !  I  hope  I  have 
the  only  copy  of  it.  The  other  thing 
which  rose  above  the  level  of  my  ordinary 
work  was  a  bit  of  verse,  '  The  Wanderer,' 
which  I  credited  to  Modjeska,  and  which 
has  given  her  no  little  annoyance." 


THE  WANDERER. 

Upon  a  mountain  height,  far  from  the  sea, 

I  found  a  shell  ; 

And  to  my  listening  ear  the  lonely  thing 
Ever  a  song  of  ocean  seemed  to  sing, 

Ever  a  tale  of  ocean  seemed  to  tell. 

How  came  the  shell  upon  that  mountain  height  ? 

Ah,  who  can  say 

Whether  there  dropped  by  some  too  careless  hand, 
Or  whether  there  cast  when  ocean  swept  the  land, 

Ere  the  Eternal  had  ordained  the  day  ? 

Strange,  was  it  not  ?     Far  from  its  native  deep, 

One  song  it  sang — 

Sang  of  the  awful  mysteries  of  the  tide, 
Sang  of  the  misty  sea,  profound  and  wide, 

Ever  with  echoes  of  the  ocean  rang. 

And  as  the  shell  upon  the  mountain  height 

Sings  of  the  sea, 

So  do  I  ever,  leagues  and  leagues  away, 
So  do  I  ever,  wandering  where  I  may, 

Sing,  O  my  home  !  sing,  O  my  home  !  of  thee. 

"That  brings  you  up  to  Chicago,  doesn't 
it?" 

"In  1883  Melville  Stone  asked  me  to 
join  him  on  the  'News,'  and  I  did.  Since 
then  my  life  has  been  uneventful." 

"I  might  not  think  so.  Did  you  estab- 
lish the  column  '  Sharps  and  Flats '  at 
once?" 


"  Yes.  I  told  Stone  I'd  write  a  good 
deal  of  musical  matter,  and  the  name 
seemed  appropriate.  We  tried  to  change 
it  several  times,  but  no  go." 

"I  first  saw  your  work  in  the  'News.'  I 
was  attracted  by  your  satirical  studies  of 
Chicago.  I  don't  always  like  what  you 
write,  but  I  liked  your  war  against  sham." 

Field  became  serious  at  once,  and  leaned 
towards  the  other  man  in  an  attitude  of 
great  earnestness.  The  deepest  note  in 
the  man's  voice  came  out.  "  I  hate  a  sham 
or  a  fraud  ;  not  so  much  a  fraud,  for  a 
fraud  means  brains  very  often,  but  a  sham 
makes  me  mad  clear  through,"  he  said 
savagely.  His  fighting  quality  came  out 
in  the  thrust  of  the  chin.  Here  was  the 
man  whom  the  frauds  and  shams  fear. 

"  That  is  evident.  But  I  don't  think  the 
people  make  the  broadest  application  of 
your  satires.  They  apply  them  to  Chicago. 
There  is  quite  a  feeling.  I  suppose  you 
know  about  this.  They  say  you've  hurt 
Chicago  art." 

"  I  hope  I  have,  so  far  as  the  bogus  art 
and  imitation  culture  of  my  city  is  con- 
cerned. As  a  matter  of  fact  the  same  kind 
of  thing  exists  in  Boston  and  New  York, 
only  they're  used  to  it  there.  I've  jumped 
on  that  crowd  of  faddists,  I'll  admit,  as 
hard  as  I  could  ;  but  I  don't  think  any  one 
can  say  I've  ever  willingly  done  any  real 
man  or  woman  an  injury.  If  I  have,  I've 
always  tried  to  square  the  thing  up."  Here 
was  the  man's  fairness,  kindliness  of  heart, 
coming  to  the  surface  in  good  simple  way. 

The  other  man  was  visibly  impressed 
with  his  friend's  earnestness,  but  he  pur- 
sued his  course.  "You've  had  offers  to  go 
East,  according  to  the  papers." 

"Yes,  but  I'm  not  going — why  should 
I  ?  I'm  in  my  element  here.  They  haven't 
any  element  there.  They've  got  atmos- 
phere there,  and  it's  pretty  thin  sometimes, 
I  call  it."  He  uttered  "atmosphere"  with 
a  drawling,  attenuated  nasal,  to  express  his 
contempt.  "  I  don't  want  literary  atmos- 
phere. I  want  to  be  in  an  element  where  I 
can  tumble  around  and  yell  without  falling 
in  a  fit  for  lack  of  breath." 

The  interviewer  was  scratching  away 
like  mad — this  was  his  chance. 

Field's  mind  took  a  sudden  turn  now, 
and  he  said  emphatically  :  "Garland,  I'm 
a  newspaper  man.  I  don't  claim  to  be 
anything  else.  I've  never  written  a  thing 
for  the  magazines,  and  I  never  was  asked 
to,  till  about  four  years  ago.  I  never  have 
put  a  high  estimate  upon  my  verse.  That 
it's  popular  is  because  my  sympathies  and 
the  public's  happen  to  run  on  parallel  lines 


EUGENE  FIELD  AND  HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


20J 


just  now.  That's  all.  Not  much  of  it  will 
live." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  brother  Field," 
said  Garland,  pausing  to  rest.  "  I  think 
you  underestimate  some  of  that  work. 
Your  reminiscent  boy-life  poems  and  your 
songs  of  childhood  are  thoroughly  Ameri- 
can, and  fine  and  tender.  They'll  take 
care  of  themselves." 

"  Yes,  but  my  best  work  has  been  along 
lines  of  satire.  I've  consistently  made  war 
upon  shams.  I've  stood  always  in  my  work 
for  decency  and  manliness  and  honesty.  I 
think  that'll  remain  true,  you'll  find.  I'm 
not  much  physically,  but  morally  I'm  not  a 
coward.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  reformer  ; 
I  leave  that  to  others.  I  hate  logarithms. 


life,"  pursued  Garland,  who  called  himself 
a  veritist,  and  enjoyed  getting  his  friend  as 
nearly  on  his  ground  as  possible. 

"  Yes,  that's  so,  but  that's  in  the  far 
past,"  Field  admitted.  Garland  took  the 
thought  up. 

"  Time  helps  you,  then.  Time  is  a 
romancer.  He  halves  the  fact,  but  we 
veritists  find  the  present  fact  haloed  with 
significance,  if  not  beauty." 

Field  dodged  the  point. 

"  Yes,  I  like  to  do  those  boy-life  verses. 
I  like  to  live  over  the  joys  and  tragedies 
— because  we  had  our  tragedies." 

"  Didn't  we  !  Weeding  the  onion-bed 
on  circus  day,  for  example." 

"Yes,  or  gettin'  a  terrible  strappin'  for 


THE    DRAWING-ROOM. 


I  like  speculative  astronomy.  I  am  natu- 
rally a  lover  of  romance.  My  mind  turns 
towards  the  far  past  or  future.  I  like  to 
illustrate  the  foolery  of  these  society  folks 
by  stories  which  I  invent.  The  present 
don't  interest  me — at  least  not  taken  as  it 
is.  Possibilities  interest  me." 

"  That's  a  good  way  to  put  it,"  said  the 
other  man.  "  It's  a  question  of  the  impos- 
sible, the  possible,  and  the  probable.  I 
like  the  probable.  I  like  the  near-at-hand. 
I  feel  the  most  vital  interest  in  the  average 
fact." 

'  I  know  you  do  ;  and  I  like  it  after  you 
get  through  with  it,  but  I  don't  care  to 
deal  with  the  raw  material  myself.  I  like 
the  archaic." 

"  Yet  some  of  your  finest  things,  I  re- 
peat, are  your  reminiscent  verses  of  boy- 


goin'  swimming  without  permission.  Oh, 
it  all  comes  back  to  me,  all  sweet  and  fine, 
somehow.  I've  forgotten  all  the  unpleas- 
ant things.  I  remember  only  the  best  of 
it  all.  I  like  boy-life.  I  like  children.  I 
like  young  men.  I  like  the  buoyancy  of 
youth  and  its  freshness.  It's  a  God's  pity 
that  every  young  child  can't  get  a  taste  of 
country  life  at  some  time.  It's  a  fund  of 
inspiration  to  a'  man."  Again  the  finer 
quality  in  the  man  came  out  in  his  face 
and  voice. 

"Your  life  in  New  England  and  the 
South,  and  also  in  the  West,  has  been  of 
great  help  to  you,  I  think." 

"Yes,  and  a  big  disadvantage.  When  I 
go  East  Stedman  calls  me  a  typical  West- 
erner, and  when  I  come  West  they  call  me 
a  Yankee — so  there  I  am  ! " 


208 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS, 


"  Now  you  touch  a  great  theme.  You're 
right,  Field.  The  next  ten  years  will  see 
literary  horizons  change  mightily.  The 
West  is  dead  sure  to  be  in  the  game  from 
this  time  on.  A  man  can't  be  out  here  a 
week  without  feeling  the  thrill  of  latent 
powers.  The  West  is  coming  to  its  man- 
hood. The  West  is  the  place  for  enthusi- 
asm. Her  history  is  making." 

Field  took  up  the  note.  "  I've  got  faith 
in  it.  I  love  New  England  for  her  heri- 
tage to  me.  I  like  her  old  stone  walls  and 
meadows,  but  when  I  get  back  West — well, 
I'm  home,  that's  all.  My  love  for  the  West 
has  got  blood  in  it." 

Garland  laughed  in  sudden  perception 
of  their  earnestness.  "  We're  both  talking 
like  a  couple  of  '  boomers.'  It'  might  be 
characteristic,  however,  to  apply  the 
methods  of  the  '  boomers  '  of  town  lots  to 
the  development  of  art  and  literature. 
What  say  ?  " 

"  It  can  be  done.  It  will  come  in  the 
course  of  events." 

"  In  our  enthusiasm  we  have  skated 
away  from  the  subject.  You  are  forty- 


MR.  FIELD'S  TREASURES:  THE  GLADSTONE  AXE,  c.  A.  DANA'S  SHEARS,  THE  HORACES. 


"  There's  no  doubt  of  your  being  a 
Westerner." 

"I  hope  not.  I  believe  in  the  West.  I 
tell  you,  brother  Garland,  the  West  is  the 
coming  country.  We  ought  to  have  a  big 
magazine  to  develop  the  West.  It's  absurd 
to  suppose  we're  going  on  always  being 
tributary  to  the  East !  " 

Garland  laid  down  his  pad  and  lifted  his 
big  fist  in  the  air  like  a  maul.  His  enthu- 
siasm rose  like  a  flood. 


three,  then  ;  you   realize  there's  a  lot  of 
work  before  you,  I  hope." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  serious  work  is  just  begun. 
I'm  a  man  of  slow  development.  I  feel 
that.  I  know  my  faults  and  my  weak- 
nesses. I'm  getting  myself  in  hand.  Now, 
Garland,  I'm  with  you  in  your  purposes, 
but  I  go  a  different  way.  You  go  into 
things  direct.  I'm  naturally  allusive.  My 
work  is  almost  always  allusive,  if  you've 
noticed." 


EUGENE  FIELD  AND  HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


209 


"  Do  you  write  rapidly  ?  " 

"  I  write  my  verse  easily,  but  my  prose  I 
sweat  over.  Don't  you  ?" 

"  I  toil  in  revision,  even  when  I  have 
what  the  other  fellows  call  an  inspira- 
tion." 

"  I  tell  you,  Garland,  genius  is  not  in  it. 
It's  work  and  patience,  and  staying  with  a 
thing.  Inspiration  is  all  right  and  pretty 
and  a  suggestion,  but  it's  when  a  man  gets 
a  pen  in  his  hand  and  sweats  blood  that 
inspiration  begins  to  enter  in." 

"  Well,  what  are  your  plans  for  the  fut- 
ure ?  Your  readers  want  to  know  that.  " 


His  face  glowed  as  he  replied  :  "  I'm 
going  to  write  a  sentimental  life  of  Hor- 
ace. We  know  mighty  little  of  him,  but 
what  I  don't  know  I'll  make  up.  I'll  write 
such  a  life  as  he  must  have  lived ;  the  life 
we  all  live  when  boys." 

The  younger  man  put  up  his  notes,  and 
they  walked  down  and  out  under  the  trees, 
with  the  gibbous  moon  shining  through 
the  gently  moving  leaves.  They  passed  a 
couple  of  young  people  walking  slow — his 
voice  a  murmur,  hers  a  whisper. 

"  There  they  go.  Youth  !  Youth  !  "  said 
Field. 


PORTRAITS    OF    EUGENE    FIELD. 


AGE   SIX   MONTHS. 


PORTRAITS  OF  EUGENE  FIELD. 


211 


AGE    3=. 


AGE    34. 


PORTRAITS    OF    DWIGHT    LYMAN    MOODY. 


1854.  AGE  17.  MR.  MOODY  AS  HE  APPEARED 
AT  THE  TIME  HE  REMOVED  FROM  THE 
FAMILY  FARM  TO  BOSTON. 


MR.    MOODY   IN    1882.      AGE   45.      FROM    A   PHOTOGRAPH    BY   PIERRE    LETIT,    PARIS, 


MR.  MOODY:   SOME   IMPRESSIONS   AND    FACTS. 


BY  HENRY  DRUMMOND,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.E.,  F.G.S. 

Author  of  "  Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World,"  "  The  Greatest  Thing  in  the  World,"  "  The  Ascent  of  Man,"  etc. 

TO  gain  just  the  right  impression  of  Mr. 
Moody  you  must  make  a  pilgrimage 
to  Northfield.  Take  the  train  to  the  way- 
side depot  in  Massachusetts  which  bears 
that  name,  or,  better  still,  to  South  Vernon, 
where  the  fast  trains  stop.  Northfield,  his 
birthplace  and  his  present  home,  is  distant 
about  a  couple  of  miles,  but  at  certain  sea- 
sons of  the  year  you  will  find  awaiting 
trains  a  two-horse  buggy,  not  conspicuous 
for  varnish,  but  famous  for  pace,  driven  by 
a  stout  farmer-like  person  in  a  slouch  hat. 
As  he  drives  you  to  the  spacious  hotel — a 
creation  of  Mr.  Moody's — he  will  answer 
your  questions  about  the  place  in  a  brusque, 
business-like  way  ;  indulge,  probably,  in  a 
few  laconic  witticisms,  or  discuss  the  polit- 
ical situation  or  the  last  strike  with  a 
shrewdness  which  convinces  you  that,  if  the 
Northfield  people  are  of  this  level-headed 
type,  they  are  at  least  a  worthy  field  for 
the  great  preacher's  energies.  Presently, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  on  one  of 
those  luscious,  grassy  slopes,  framed  in 
with  forest  and  bounded  with  the  blue  re- 
ceding hills,  which  give  the  Connecticut 
Valley  its  dream-like  beauty,  the  great 
halls  and  colleges  of  the  new  Northfield 
which  Mr.  Moody  has  built,  begin  to  ap- 
pear. Your  astonishment  is  great,  not  so 
much  to  find  a  New  England  hamlet  pos- 
sessing a  dozen  of  the  finest  educational 
buildings  in  America — for  the  neighbor- 
ing townships  of  Amherst  and  Northamp- 
ton are  already  famous  for  their  collegiate 
institutions — but  to  discover  that  these 
owe  their  existence  to  a  man  whose  name 
is,  perhaps,  associated  in  the  minds  of 
three-fourths  of  his  countrymen,  not  with 
education,  but  with  the  want  of  it.  But 
presently,  when  you  are  deposited  at  the 
door  of  the  hotel,  a  more  astounding  dis- 
covery greets  you.  For  when  you  ask  the 
clerk  whether  the  great  man  himself  is  at 
home,  and  where  you  can  see  him,  he  will 
point  to  your  coachman,  now  disappearing 
like  lightning  down  the  drive,  and — too 
much  accustomed  to  Mr.  Moody's  humor 
to  smile  at  his  latest  jest — whisper,  "  That's 
him." 

If  this  does  not  actually  happen  in  your 


HENRY    DRUMMOND. 


case,  it  is  certain  it  has  happened  ;*  and 
nothing  could  more  fittingly  introduce  you 
to  the  man,  or  make  you  realize  the  natu- 
ralness, the  simplicity,  the  genuine  and 
unaffected  humanity  of  this  great  unspoilt 
and  unspoilable  personality. 


MR.  MOODY    MUCH    MISUNDERSTOOD. 

Simple  as  this  man  is,  and  homely  as 
are  his  surroundings,  probably  America 
possesses  at  this  moment  no  more  extra- 
ordinary personage  ;  nor  even  amongst 
the  most  brilliant  of  her  sons  has  any 

*  At  the  beginning  of  each  of  the  terms,  hundreds  of  stu- 
dents, many  of  them  strangers,  arrive  to  attend  those  semi- 
naries. At  such  times  Mr.  Moody  literally  haunts  the 
depots,  to  meet  them  the  moment  they  most  need  a  friend, 
and  give  them  that  personal  welcome  which  is  more  to  many 
of  them  than  half  their  education.  When  casual  visitors, 
mistaking  perhaps  the  only  vehicle  in  waiting  for  a  public 
conveyance,  have  taken  possession  for  themselves  and  their 
luggage,  the  driver,  circumstances  permitting,  has  duly 
risen  to  the  occasion.  The  fact,  by  the  way,  that  he  so  es- 
capes recognition,  illustrates  a  peculiarity.  Mr.  Moody, 
owing  to  a  life-long  resistance  to  the  self-advertisement  of 
the  camera,  is  probably  less  known  by  photographs  than  any 
public  man. 


214 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


rendered  more  stupendous  or  more  endur- 
ing service  to  his  country  or  his  time.  No 
public  man  is  less  understood,  especially 
by  the  thinking  world,  than  D.  L.  Moody. 
It  is  not  that  it  is  unaware  of  his  existence, 
or  even  that  it  does  not  respect  him.  But 
his  line  is  so  special,  his  work  has  lain  so 
apart  from  what  it  conceives  to  be  the 
rational  channels  of  progress,  that  it  has 
never  felt  called  upon  to  take  him  seri- 
ously. So  little,  indeed,  is  the  true  stature 
of  this  man  known  to  the  mass  of  his 
generation,  that  the  preliminary  estimate 
recorded  here  must  seem  both  extravagant 
and  ill-considered.  To  whole  sections  of 
the  community  the  mere  word  evangelical 
is  a  synonym  for  whatever  is  narrow, 
strained,  superficial,  and  unreal.  Assumed 
to  be  heir  to  all  that  is  hectic  in  religion, 
and  sensational  in  the  methods  of  propa- 
gating it,  men  who,  like  Mr.  Moody,  earn 
this  name  are  unconsciously  credited  with 
the  worst  traditions  of  their  class.  It  will 
surprise  many  to  know  that  Mr.  Moody  is 
as  different  from  the  supposed  type  of  his 
class  as  light  is  from  dark  ;  that  while  he 
would  be  the  last  to  repudiate  the  name, 
indeed,  while  glorying  more  and  more  each 
day  he  lives  in  the  work  of  the  evangelist,  he 
sees  the  weaknesses,  the  narrownesses,  and 
the  limitations  of  that  order  with  as  clear 
an  eye  as  the  most  unsparing  of  its  critics. 
But  especially  will  it  surprise  many  to 
know  that  while  preaching  to  the  masses 
has  been  the  main  outward  work  of  Mr. 
Moody's  life,  he  has,  perhaps,  more,  and 
more  varied,  irons  in  the  fire — educational, 


philanthropic,  religious — than  almost  any 
living  man  ;  and  that  vast  as  has  been  his 
public  service  as  a  preacher  to  the  masses, 
it  is  probably  true  that  his  personal  in- 
fluence and  private  character  have  done  as 
much  as  his  preaching  to  affect  his  day 
and  generation. 

Discussion  has  abounded  lately  as  to  the 
standards  by  which  a  country  shall  judge 
its  great  men.  And  the  verdict  has  been 
given  unanimously  on  behalf  of  moral  in- 
fluence. Whether  estimated  by  the  moral 
qualities  which  go  to  the  making  up  of  his 
personal  character,  or  the  extent  to  which 
he  has  impressed  these  upon  whole  com- 
munities of  men  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic,  there  is,  perhaps,  no  more  truly 
great  man  living  than  D.  L.  Moody.  By 
moral  influences  in  this  connection  I  do  not 
mean  in  any  restricted  sense  religious  in- 
fluence. I  mean  the  influence  which,  with 
whatever  doctrinal  accompaniments,  or 
under  whatever  ecclesiastical  flag,  leads 
men  to  better  lives  and  higher  ideals  ;  the 
influence  which  makes  for  noble  character, 
personal  enthusiasm,  social  well-being,  and 
national  righteousness.  I  have  never  heard 
Mr.  Moody  defend  any  particular  church  ; 
I  have  never  heard  him  quoted  as  a  theo- 
logian. But  I  have  met  multitudes,  and 
personally  know,  in  large  numbers,  men 
and  women  of  all  churches  and  creeds, 
of  many  countries  and  ranks,  from  the 
poorest  to  the  richest,  and  from  the  most 
ignorant  to  the  most  wise,  upon  whom  he 
has  placed  an  ineffaceable  moral  mark. 
There  is  no  large  town  in  Great  Britain  or 


THE   MOODY    HOMESTEAD    AT   NORTHFIELD,    MASSACHUSETTS,  WHERE    D.    L.    MOODY   WAS   BORN. 


MR.   MOODY :    SOME  IMPRESSIONS  AND   FACTS. 


MRS.    BETSEY   MOODY,  MOTHER   OF    D.    L.    MOODY. 


Ireland,  and  I  perceive  there  are  few  in 
America,  where  this  man  has  not  gone, 
where  he  has  not  lived  for  days,  weeks,  or 
months,  and  where  he  has  not  left  behind 
him  personal  inspirations  which  live  to  this 
day  ;  inspirations  which,  from  the  moment 
of  their  birth,  have  not  ceased  to  evidence 
themselves  in  practical  ways — in  further- 
ing domestic  happiness  and  peace ;  in 
charities  and  philanthropies  ;  in  social,  re- 
ligious, and  even  municipal  and  national 
service. 

It  is  no  part  of  the  present  object  to 
give  a  detailed  account  of  Mr.  Moody's 
career,  still  less  of  his  private  life.  The 
sacred  character  of  much  of  his  work  also 
forbids  allusion  in  this  brief  sketch  to 
much  that  those  more  deeply  interested 
in  him,  and  in  the  message  which  he  pro- 
claims, would  like  to  have  expressed  or 
analyzed.  All  that  is  designed  is  to  give 
the  outside  reader  some  few  particulars  to 
introduce  him  to,  and  interest  him  in,  the 
man. 


BOYHOOD    ON    A    NEW    ENGLAND    FARM. 

Fifty-seven  years  ago  (February  5,  1837) 
Dwight  Lyman  Moody  was  born  in  the 
same  New  England  valley  where,  as  al- 
ready said,  he  lives  to-day.  Four  years 
later  his  father  died,  leaving  a  widow,  nine 
children — the  eldest  but  thirteen  years  of 
age — a  little  home  on  the  mountain  side, 
and  an  acre  or  two  of  mortgaged  land. 
How  this  widow  shouldered  her  burden  of 
poverty,  debt,  and  care  ;  how  she  brought 
up  her  helpless  flock,  keeping  all  together 
in  the  old  home,  educating  them,  and 
sending  them  out  into  life  stamped  with 
her  own  indomitable  courage  and  lofty 
principle,  is  one  of  those  unrecorded  his- 
tories whose  page,  when  time  unfolds  it, 
will  be  found  to  contain  the  secret  of 
nearly  all  that  is  greatest  in  the  world's 
past.  It  is  delightful  to  think  that  this 
mother  has  survived  to  see  her  labors 
crowned,  and  still  lives,  a  venerable  and 
beautiful  figure,  near  the  scene  of  her  early 


2l6 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


D.    L.    MOODY'S   RESIDENCE   AT   NORTHFIELD,  MASSACHUSETTS,  LOOKING   SOUTH. 


battles.  There,  in  a  sunny  room  of  the 
little  farm,  she  sits  with  faculties  unim- 
paired, cherished  by  an  entire  community, 
and  surrounded  with  all  the  love  and  grati- 
tude which  her  children  and  her  children's 
children  can  heap  upon  her.  One  has  only 
to  look  at  the  strong,  wise  face,  or  listen 
to  the  firm  yet  gentle  tones,  to  behold  the 
source  of  those  qualities  of  sagacity,  en- 
ergy, self-unconsciousness,  and  faith  which 
have  made  the  greatest  of  her  sons  what 
he  is. 

Until  his  seventeenth  year  Mr.  Moody's 
boyhood  was  spent  at  home.  What  a 
merry,  adventurous,  rough  -  and  -  tumble 
boyhood  it  must  have  been,  how  much 
fuller  of  escapade  than  of  education,  those 
who  know  Mr.  Moody's  irrepressible  tem- 
perament and  buoyant  humor  will  not 
require  the  traditions  of  his  Northfield 
schoolmates  to  recall.  The  village  school 
was  the  only  seminary  he  ever  attended, 
and  his  course  was  constantly  interrupted 
by  the  duties  of  the  home  and  of  the  farm. 
He  learned  little  about  books,  but  much 
about  horses,  crops,  and  men  ;  his  mind 
ran  wild,  and  his  memory  stored  up  noth- 
ing but  the  alphabet  of  knowledge.  But 
in  these  early  country  days  his  bodily  form 
strengthened  to  iron,  and  he  built  up  that 
constitution  which  in  after  life  enabled 
him  not  only  to  do  the  work  of  ten,  but 
to  sustain  without  a  break  through  four 
decades  as  arduous  and  exhausting  work 
as  was  ever  given  to  man  to  do.  Innocent 
at  this  stage  of  "  religion,"  he  was  known 
in  the  neighborhood  simply  as  a  raw  lad, 
high-spirited,  generous,  daring,  with  a  will 
of  his  own,  and  a  certain  audacious  orig- 
inality which,  added  to  the  fiery  energy  of 


his  disposition,  foreboded  a  probable  future 
either  in  the  ranks  of  the  incorrigibles 
or,  if  fate  were  kind,  perchance  of  the  im- 
mortals. 

Somewhere  about  his  eighteenth  year 
the  turning  point  came.  Vast  as  were  the 
issues,  the  circumstances-  were  in  no  way 
eventful.  Leaving  school,  the  boy  had  set 
out  for  Boston,  where  he  had  an  uncle,  to 
push  his  fortune.  His  uncle,  with  some 
trepidation,  offered  him  a  place  in  his 
store  ;  but,  seeing  the  kind  of  nature  he 
had  to  deal  with,  laid  down  certain  condi- 
tions which  the  astute  man  thought  might 
at  least  minimize  explosions.  One  of 
these  conditions  was,  that  the  lad  should 
attend  church  and  Sunday  school.  These 
influences — and  it  is  interesting  to  note 
that  they  are  simply  the  normal  influences 
of  a  Christian  society — did  their  work. 
On  the  surface  what  appears  is  this  :  that 
he  attended  church — to  order,  and  listened 
with  more  or  less  attention  ;  that  he  went 
to  Sunday  school,  and,  when  he  recovered 
his  breath,  asked  awkward  questions  of  his 
teacher  ;  that,  by  and  by,  when  he  applied 
for  membership  in  the  congregation,  he 
was  summarily  rejected,  and  told  to  wait 
six  months  until  he  learned  a  little  more 
about  it  ;  and,  lastly,  that  said  period  of 
probation  having  expired,  he  was  duly  re- 
ceived into  communion.  The  decisive  in- 
strument during  this  period  seems  to  have 
been  his  Sunday-school  teacher,  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Kimball,  whose  influence  upon  his 
charge  was  not  merely  professional,  but 
personal  and  direct.  In  private  friendship 
he  urged  young  Moody  to  the  supreme 
decision,  and  Mr.  Moody  never  ceased  to 
express  his  gratitude  to  the  layman  who 


MR.   MOODY :   SOME  IMPRESSIONS  AND   FACTS. 


217 


met  him  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and  led 
his  thoughts  and  energies  in  the  direction 
in  which  they  have  done  such  service  to 
the  world. 


REMOVAL    TO    CHICAGO — RARE    GIFT    FOR 
BUSINESS. 

The  immediate  fruit  of  this  change  was 
not  specially  apparent.  The  ambitions  of 
the  lad  chiefly  lay  in  the  line  of  mercantile 
success  ;  and  his  next  move  was  to  find  a 
larger  and  freer  field  for  the  abilities  for 
business  which  he  began  to  discover  in  him- 
self. This  he  found  in  the  then  new  world 
of  Chicago.  Arriving  there,  with  due 
introductions,  he  was  soon  engaged  as 
salesman  in  a  large  and  busy  store,  with 
possibilities  of  work  and  promotion  which 
suited  his  taste.  That  he  distinguished 
himself  almost  at  once,  goes  without  saying. 
In  a  year  or  two  he  was  earning  a  salary 
considerable  for  one  of  his  years,  and  his 
business  capacity  became  speedily  so 
proved  that  his  future  prosperity  was  as- 
sured. "  He  would  never  sit  down  in  the 
store,"  writes  one  of  his  fellows,  "  to  chat 
or  read  the  paper,  as  the  other  clerks  did 


when  there  were  no  customers  ;  but  as  soon 
as  he  had  served  one  buyer,  he  was  on  the- 
lookout  for  another.  If  none  appeared,  he 
would  start  off  to  the  hotels  or  depots,  or 
walk  the  streets  in  search  of  one.  He 
would  sometimes  stand  on  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  his  place  of  business,  looking  ea- 
gerly up  and  down  for  a  man  who  had  the 
appearance  of  a  merchant  from  the  country, 
and  some  of  his  fellow-clerks  were  accus- 
tomed laughingly  to  say  :  '  There  is  the 
spider  again,  watching  for  a  fly.'" 

The  taunt  is  sometimes  levelled  at  relig- 
ion, that  mainly  those  become  religious 
teachers  who  are  not  fit  for  anything  else. 
The  charge  is  not  worth  answering  ;  but  it 
is  worth  recording  that  in  the  case  of  Mr. 
Moody  the  very  reverse  is  the  case.  If 
Mr.  Moody  had  remained  in  business,  there 
is  almost  no  question  that  he  would  have 
been  to-day  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in 
the  United  States.  His  enterprise,  his  or- 
ganizing power,  his  knowledge  and  man- 
agement of  men  are  admitted  by  friend 
and  foe  to  be  of  the  highest  order  ;  while 
such  is  his  generalship — as  proved,  for  ex- 
ample, in  the  great  religious  campaign  in 
Great  Britain  in  1873-75 — that,  had  he 


VIEW    FROM    THE    PORCH    OF   MR.    MOODY's    HOUSE   AT   NORTHFIELD. 


2l8 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


MR.    MOODV'S   HOUSE   AT   NORTHFIELD    IN    WINTER,    LOOKING   EAST. 


chosen  a  military  career,  he  would  have 
risen  to  the  first  rank  among  leaders.  One 
of  the  merchant  princes  of  Britain,  the 
well-known  director  of  one  of  the  largest 
steamship  companies  in  the  world,  assured 
the  writer  lately  that  in  the  course  of  a 
life-long  commercial  experience  he  had 
never  met  a  man  with  more  business  capa- 
city and  sheer  executive  ability  than  D.  L. 
Moody.  Let  any  one  visit  Northfield,  with 
its  noble  piles  of  institutions,  or  study  the 
history  of  the  work  conceived,  directed, 
financed,  and  carried  out  on  such  a  colossal 
scale  by  Mr.  Moody  during  the  time  of  the 
World's  Fair  at  Chicago,  and  he  will  dis- 
cover for  himself  the  size,  the  mere  intel- 
lectual quality,  creative  power,  and  organ- 
izing skill  of  the  brain  behind  them. 

Undiverted,  however,  from  a  deeper  pur- 
pose even  by  the  glamor  of  a  successful 
business  life,  Mr.  Moody's  moral  and  relig- 
ious instincts  led  him  almost  from  the 
day  of  his  arrival  in  Chicago  to  devote 
what  spare  time  he  had  to  the  work  of  the 
Church.  He  began  by  hiring  four  pews  in 
the  church  to  which  he  had  attached  him- 
self, and  these  he  attempted  to  fill  every 
Sunday  with  young  men  like  himself.  This 
work  for  a  temperament  like  his  soon 
proved  too  slow,  and  he  sought  fuller  out- 
lets for  his  enthusiasm.  Applying  for  the 
post  of  teacher  in  an  obscure  Sunday 
school,  he  was  told  by  the  superintendent 
that  it  was  scholars  he  wanted,  not  teach- 
ers, but  that  he  would  let  him  try  his  hand 
if  he  could  find  the  scholars.  Next  Sun- 


day the  new  candidate  appeared  with  a 
procession  of  eighteen  urchins,  ragged, 
rowdy,  and  barefooted,  on  whom  he 
straightway  proceeded  to  operate.  Hunt- 
ing up  children  and  general  recruiting  for 
mission  halls  remained  favorite  pursuits 
for  years  to  come,  and  his  success  was  sig- 
nal. In  all  this  class  of  work  he  was  a 
natural  adept,  and  his  early  experiences  as 
a  scout  were  full  of  adventure.  This  was 
probably  the  most  picturesque  period  of 
Mr.  Moody's  life,  and  not  the  least  useful. 
Now  we  find  him  tract-distributing  in  the 
slums;  again,  visit  ing  among  the  docks;  and, 
finally,  he  started  a  mission  of  his  own  in 
one  of  the  lowest  haunts  of  the  city.  There 
he  saw  life  in  all  its  phases  ;  he  learned 
what  practical  religion  was  ;  he  tried  in 
succession  every  known  method  of  Chris- 
tian work  ;  and  when  any  of  the  conven- 
tional methods  failed,  invented  new  ones. 
Opposition,  discouragement,  failure,  he  met 
at  every  turn  and  in  every  form  ;  but  one 
thing  he  never  learned — how  to  give  up 
man  or  scheme  he  had  once  set  his  heart 
on.  For  years  this  guerilla  work,  hand  to 
hand,  and  heart  to  heart,  went  on.  He  ran 
through  the  whole  gamut  of  mission  expe- 
rience, tackling  the  most  difficult  districts 
and  the  most  adverse  circumstances,  doing 
all  the  odd  jobs  and  menial  work  himself, 
never  attempting  much  in  the  way  of  public 
speaking,  but  employing  others  whom  he 
thought  more  fit ;  making  friends  especially 
with  children,  and  through  them  with  their 
dissolute  fathers  and  starving  mothers. 


MR.    MOODY :   SOME  IMPRESSIONS  AND  FACTS. 


219 


Great  as  was  his  success,  the  main  reward 
achieved  was  to  the  worker  himself.  Here 
he  was  broken  in,  moulded,  toned  down, 
disciplined,  in  a  dozen  needed  directions, 
and  in  this  long  and  severe  apprenticeship 
he  unconsciously  qualified  himself  to  be- 
come the  teacher  of  the  Church  in  all 
methods  of  reaching  the  masses  and  win- 
ning men.  He  found  out  where  his  strength 
lay,  and  where  his  weakness  ;  he  learned 
that  saving  men  was  no  child's  play^  but 
meant  practically  giving  a  life  for  a  life  ; 
that  regeneration  was  no  milk  and  water 
experience  ;  that,  as  Mrs.  Browning  says  : 

"  It  takes  a  high-soul'd  man 
To  move  the  masses — even  to  a  cleaner  sty." 

But  for  this  personal  discipline  it  is 
doubtful  if  Mr.  Moody  would  ever  have 
been  heard  of  outside  the  purlieus  of 
Chicago.  The  clergy,  bewildered  by  his 
eccentric  genius,  and  suspicious  of  his  un- 
conventional ways,  looked  askance  at  him; 
and  it  was  only  as  time  mellowed  his  head- 
strong youth  into  a  soberer,  yet  not  less 
zealous,  manhood  that  the  solitary  worker 
found  influential  friends  to  countenance 
and  guide  him.  His  activity,  especially 
during  the  years  of  the  war,  when  he  served 
with  almost  superhuman  devotion  in  the 
Christian  Commission,  led  many  of  his 
fellow-laborers  to  know  his  worth  ;  and  the 
war  over,  he  became  at  last  a  recognized 
factor  in'  the  religious  life  of  Chicago.  The 


mission  which  he  had  slowly  built  up  was 
elevated  to  the  rank  of  a  church,  with  Mr. 
Moody,  who  had  long  since  given  up  busi- 
ness in  order  to  devote  his  entire  time  to, 
what  lay  nearer  his  heart,  as  its  pastor, 

MR.  MOODY'S  SLOW  DEVELOPMENT  AS  A 
PUBLIC  SPEAKER. 

As  a  public  speaker  up  to  this  time  Mr. 
Moody  was  the  reverse  of  celebrated.  When 
he  first  attempted  speaking,  in  Boston,  he 
was  promptly  told  to  hold  his  tongue,  and 
further  efforts  in  Chicago  were  not  less  dis- 
couraging. "  He  had  never  heard,"  writes 
Mr.  Daniells,  in  his  well-known  biography, 
"  of  Talleyrand's  famous  doctrine,  that 
speech  is  useful  for  concealing  one's 
thoughts.  Like  Antony,  he  only  spoke 
'  right  on.'  There  was  frequently  a  pun- 
gency in  his  exhortation  which  his  brethren 
did  not  altogether  relish.  Sometimes  in 
his  prayers  he  would  express  opinions  to 
the  Lord  concerning  them  which  were  by 
no  means  flattering  ;  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  received  the  same  fatherly  advice 
which  had  been  given  him  at  Boston — to 
the  effect  that  he  should  keep  his  four  pews 
full  of  young  men,  and  leave  the  speaking 
and  praying  to  those  who  could  do  it 
better."  Undaunted  by  such  pleasantries, 
Mr.  Moody  did,  on  occasion,  continue  to 
use  his  tongue — no  doubt  much  ashamed  of 
himself.  He  spoke  not  because  he  thought 


DINING-ROOM,  MR.    MOODY's    HOUSE   AT   NORTHFIELD. 


22O 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


he  could  speak,  but  because  he  could  not 
be  silent.  The  ragged  children  whom  he 
gathered  round  him  in  the  empty  saloon 
near  the  North  Side  Market,  had  to  be 
talked,  to  somehow,  and  among  such  audi- 
ences, with  neither  premeditation  nor  prep- 
aration, he  laid  the  foundations  of  that 
amazingly  direct  anecdotal  style  and  ex- 
plosive delivery  which  became  such  a 
splendid  instrument  of  his  future  service. 
Training  for  the  public  platform,  this  man, 
who  has  done  more  platform  work  than  any 
man  of  hi-s  generation,  had  none.  He  knew 
only  two  books,  the  Bible  and  Human  Nat- 
ure. Out  of  these  he  spoke;  and  because 
both  are  books  of  life,  his  words  were  afire 
with  life  ;  and  the  people  to  whom  he  spoke, 
being  real  people,  listened  and  understood. 
When  Mr.  Moody  first  began  to  be  in  de- 
mand on  public  platforms,  it  was  not 
because  he  could  speak.  It  was  his  experi- 
ence that  was  wanted,  not  his  eloquence. 
As  a  practical  man  in  work  among  the 
masses,  his  advice  and  enthusiasm  were 
called  for  at  Sunday  school  and  other  con- 
ventions, and  he  soon  became  known  in  this 
connection  throughout  the  surrounding 
States.  It  was  at  one  of  these  conventions 
that  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  Mr. 
Ira  D.  Sankey,  whose  name  must  ever  be 
associated  with  his,  and  who  henceforth 
shared  his  labors  at  home  and  abroad,  and 
contributed,  in  ways  the  value  of  which  it 
is  impossible  to  exaggerate,  to  the  success 
of  his  after  work. 

Were  one  asked  what,  on  the  human 
side,  were  the  effect- 
ive ingredients  in 
Mr.  Moody's  ser- 
mons, one  would 
find  the  answer  dif- 
ficult. Probably  the 
foremost  is  the  tre- 
mendous conviction 
with  which  they  are 
uttered.  Next  to 
that  is  their  point 
and  direction.  Every 
blow  is  straightfrom 
the  shoulder,  and 
every  stroke  tells. 
Whatever  canons 
they  violate,  what- 
ever fault  the  critics 
may  find  with  their 
art,  their  rhetoric, 
or  even  with  their 
theology,  as  appeals 
to  the  people  they 
do  their  work,  and 
with  extraordinary 


power.  If  eloquence  is  measured  by  its 
effects  upon  an  audience,  and  not  by  its  bal- 
anced sentences  and  cumulative  periods, 
then  here  is  eloquence  of  the  highest  order. 
In  sheer  persuasiveness  Mr.  Moody  has  few 
equals,  and  rugged  as  his  preaching  may 
seem  to  some,  there  is  in  it  a  pathos  of  a 
quality  which  few  orators  have  ever  reached, 
an  appealing  tenderness  which  not  only 
wholly  redeems  it,  but  raises  it,  not  unseldom 
almost  to  sublimity.  No  report  can  do  the 
faintest  justice  to  this  or  to  the  other  most 
characteristic  qualities  of  his  public  speech, 
but  here  is  a  specimen  taken  almost  at  ran- 
dom: "I  can  imagine  when  Christ  said  to  the 
little  band  around  Him,  '  Go  ye  into  all  the 
world  and  preach  the  gospel,'  Peter  said, 
'  Lord,  do  you  really  mean  that  we  are  to 
go  back  to  Jerusalem  and  preach  the  gos- 
pel to  those  men  that  murdered  you?' 
'  Yes,'  said  Christ,  '  go,  hunt  up  that  man 
that  spat  in  my  face,  tell  him  he  may  have 
a  seat  in  my  kingdom  yet.  Yes,  Peter,  go 
find  that  man  that  made  that  cruel  crown 
of  thorns  and  placed  it  on  my  brow,  and 
tell  him  I  will  have  a  crown  ready  for  him 
when  he  comes  into  my  kingdom,  and  there 
will  be  no  thorns  in  it.  Hunt  up  that  man 
that  took  a  reed  and  brought  it  down  over 
the  cruel  thorns,  driving  them  into  my  brow, 
and  tell  him  I  will  put  a  sceptre  in  his  hand, 
and  he  shall  rule  over  the  nations  of  the 
earth,  if  he  will  accept  salvation.  Search 
for  the  man  that  drove  the  spear  into  my 
side,  and  tell  him  there  is  a  nearer  way  to 
my  heart  than  that.  Tell  him  I  forgive 


MR.    MOODV'S   STUDY. 


f 


222 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS, 


him  freely,  and  that  he  can  be  saved  if  he 
will  accept  salvation  as  a  gift.'  "  1 'ell  him 
there  is  a  nearer  way  to  my  heart  than  that 
— prepared  or  impromptu,  what  dramatist 
could  surpass  the  touch  ? 


MR.  MOODV'S    MANNER    OF    PREPARING    A 
SERMON. 

His  method  of  sermon-making  is  original. 
In  reality  his  sermons  are  never  made,  they 
are  always  still  in  the  making.  Suppose 
the  subject  is  Paul  :  he  takes  a  monstrous 
envelope  capable  of  holding  some  hundreds 
of  slips  of  paper,  labels  it  "  Paul,"  and  slow- 
ly stocks  it  with  original  notes,  cuttings 
from  papers,  extracts  from  books,  illustra- 
tions, scraps  of  all  kinds,  nearly  or  remote- 
ly referring  to  the  subject.  After  accumu- 
lating these,  it  may  be  for  years,  he  wades 


novelty  both  in  the  subject  matter  and  in 
the  arrangement,  for  the  particular  seventy 
varies  with  each  time  of  delivery.  No 
greater  mistake  could  be  made  than  to  im- 
agine that  Mr.  Moody  does  not  study  for 
his  sermons.  On  the  contrary  he  is  always 
studying.  When  in  the  evangelistic  field, 
the  batch  of  envelopes,  bursting  with  fat- 
ness, appears  the  moment  breakfast  is  over  ; 
and  the  stranger  who  enters  at  almost  any 
time  of  the  day,  except  at  the  hours  of 
platform  work,  will  find  him  with  his  litter 
of  notes,  either  stuffing  himself  or  his  port- 
folios with  the  new  "  points"  he  has  picked 
up  through  the  day.  His  search  for  these 
"  points,"  and  especially  for  light  upon 
texts,  Bible  ideas,  or  characters,  is  cease- 
less, and  he  has  an  eye  like  an  eagle  for 
anything  really  good.  Possessing  a  con- 
siderable library,  he  browses  over  it 
when  at  home  ;  but  his  books  are  chiefly 


HOTEL  NORTHFIELD:  OCCUPIED  FROM  OCTOBER  TO  MARCH  BY  THE  NORTHFIELD  TRAINING  SCHOOL. 


through  the  mass,  selects  a  number  of  the 
most  striking  points,  arranges  them,  and, 
finally,  makes  a  few  jottings  in  a  large 
hand,  and  these  he  carries  with  him  to  the 
platform.  The  process  of  looking  through 
the  whole  envelope  is  repeated  each  time 
the  sermon  is  preached.  Partly  on  this 
account,  and  partly  because  in  delivery  he 
forgets  some  points,  or  disproportionately 
amplifies  others,  no  two  sermons  are  ever 
exactly  the  same.  By  this  method  also — a 
matter  of  much  more  importance — the  de- 
livery is  always  fresh  to  himself.  Thus, 
to  make  this  clearer,  suppose  that  after  a 
thorough  sifting,  one  hundred  eligible 
points  remain  in  the  envelope.  Every  time 
the  sermon  is  preached,  these  hundred  are 
overhauled.  But  no  single  sermon,  by  a 
mere  limitation  of  time,  can  contain,  say, 
more  than  seventy.  Hence,  though  the 
general  scheme  is  the  same,  there  is  always 


men,  and  no  student  ever  read  the  ever- 
open  page  more  diligently,  more  intelli- 
gently, or  to  more  immediate  practical 
purpose. 

To  Mr.  Moody  himself,  it  has  always 
been  a  standing  marvel  that  people  should 
come  to  hear  him.  He  honestly  believes 
that  ten  thousand  sermons  are  made  every 
week,  in  obscure  towns,  and  by  unknown 
men,  vastly  better  than  anything  he  can  do. 
All  he  knows  about  his  own  productions  is 
that  somehow  they  achieve  the  result  in- 
tended. No  man  is  more  willing  to  stand 
aside  and  let  others  speak.  His  search  for 
men  to  whom  the  people  will  listen,  for  men 
who,  whatever  the  meagreness  of  their 
message,  can  yet  hold  an  audience,  has 
been  life-long,  and  whenever  and  wher- 
ever he  finds  such  men  he  instantly  seeks 
to  employ  them.  The  word  jealousy  he 
has  never  heard.  At  one  of  his  own  con- 


MR.   MOODY:   SOME  IMPRESSIONS  AND  FACTS. 


223 


ventions  at  Northfield,  he  has  been  known 
to  keep  silent — but  for  the  exercise  of  the 
duties  of  chairman  —  during  almost  the 
whole  ten  days'  sederunt,  while  medi- 
ocre men — I  speak  comparatively,  not 
disrespectfully — were  pushed  to  the 
front. 

It  is  at  such  conferences,  by  the  way,  no 
matter  in  what  part  of  the  world  they  are 
held,  that  one  discovers  Mr.  Moody 's  size. 
He  gathers  round  him  the  best  men  he 
can  find,  and  very  good  men  most  of 
them  are  ;  but  when  one  comes  away  it  is 
always  Mr.  Moody  that  one  remembers. 
It  is  he  who  leaves  the  impress  upon 
us  ;  his  word  and  spirit  live  ;  the  rest  of 
us  are  forgotten  and  forget  one  another. 
It  is  the  same  story  when  on  the  evangelis- 
tic round.  In  every  city  the  prominent 
workers  in  that  field  for  leagues  around 
are  all  in  evidence.  They  crowd  round  the 
central  figure  like  bees  ;  you  can  review 
the  whole  army  at  once.  And  it  is  no  dis- 
paragement to  the  others  to  say — what 
each  probably  feels  for  himself — that  so 
high  is  the  stature  and  commanding  per- 
sonality of  Mr.  Moody  that  there  seems  to 
be  but  one  real  man  among  them,  one  char- 
acter untarnished  by  intolerance  or  petti- 
ness, pretentiousness,  or  self-seeking.  The 
man  who  should  judge  Mr.  Moody  by  the 
rest  of  us  who  support  his  cause  would  do 
a  great  injustice.  He  makes  mistakes  like 
other  men  ;  but  in  largeness  of  heart,  in 
breadth  of  view,  in  single-eyedness  and 
humility,  in  teachableness  and  self-obliter- 
ation, in  sheer  goodness  and  love,  none 
can  stand  beside  him. 


MR.  MOODY  S    FIRST    VISIT    TO    GREAT 
BRITAIN. 

After  the  early  Chicago  days  the  most 
remarkable  episode  in  Mr.  Moody's  career 
was  his  preaching  tour  in  Great  Britain. 
The  burning  down  of  his  church  in  Chicago 
severed  the  tie  which  bound  him  to  the 
city,  and  though  he  still  retained  a  con- 
nection with  it,  his  ministry  henceforth 
belonged  to  the  world.  Leaving  his 
mark  on  Chicago,  in  many  directions — 
on  missions,  churches,  and,  not  least,  on 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association — 
and  already  famous  in  the  West  for  his 
success  in  evangelical  work,  he  arrived  in 
England,  with  his  colleague  Mr.  Sankey,  in 
June,  1873.  The  opening  of  their  work 
there  was  not  auspicious.  Two  of  the 
friends  who  had  invited  them  had  died,  and 
the  strangers  had  an  uphill  fight.  No  one 
had  heard  of  them;  the  clergy  received  them 
coldly  ;  Mr.  Moody's  so-called  American- 
isms prejudiced  the  super-refined  against 
him;  the  organ  and  the  solos  of  Mr.  Sankey 
were  an  innovation  sufficient  to  ruin  almost 
any  cause.  For  some  time  the  prospect 
was  bleak  enough.  In  the  town  of  New- 
castle finally  some  faint  show  of  public  in- 
terest was  awakened.  One  or  two  earnest 
ministers  in  Edinburgh  went  to  see  for 
themselves.  On  returning  they  reported 
cautiously,  but  on  the  whole  favorably,  to 
their  brethren.  The  immediate  result  was 
an  invitation  to  visit  the  capital  of  Scot- 
land ;  and  the  final  result  was  the  starting 
of  a  religious  movement,  quiet,  deep,  and 


THE  NORTHFIELD  AUDITORIUM:  COMPLETED  DURING  THE  PRESENT  YEAR,  AND  THE  NEWEST 
IN  THE  GROUP  OF  SEMINARY  BUILDINGS.  IT  HAS  A  SKATING  CAPACITY  OF  THREE 
THOUSAND. 


224 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


lasting,  which  moved  the  country  from 
shore  to  shore,  spread  to  England,  Wales, 
and  Ireland,  and  reached  a  climax  two 
years  later  in  London  itself. 

This  is  not  the  place,  as  already  said,  to 
enter  either  into  criticism  or  into  details  of 
such  a  work.  Like  all  popular  movements, 
it  had  its  mistakes,  its  exaggerations,  even 
its  grave  dangers  ;  but  these  were  probably 
never  less  in  any  equally  wide-spread  move- 
ment of  history,  nor  was  the  balance  of  good 
upon  the  whole  ever  greater,  more  solid,  or 
more  enduring.  People  who  understand  by 
a  religious  movement  only  a  promiscuous 
carnival  of  hysterical  natures,  beginning  in 
excitement  and  ending  in  moral  exhaustion 
and  fanaticism,  will  probably  be  assured  in 
vain  that  whatever  were  the  lasting  charac- 
teristics of  this  movement,  these  were  not. 
That  such  elements  were  wholly  absent 
may  not  be  asserted ;  human  nature  is 
human  nature ;  but  always  the  first  to 
fight  them,  on  the  rare  occasions  when 
they  appeared,  was  Mr.  Moody  himself. 
He,  above  all  popular  preachers,  worked 
for  solid  results.  Even  the  mere  harvest- 
ing— his  own  special  department — was  a 
secondary  thing  to  him  compared  with  the 
garnering  of  the  fruits  by  the  Church  and 
their  subsequent  growth  and  further  fruit- 
fulness.  It  was  the  writer's  privilege  as 
a  humble  camp-follower  to  follow  the  for- 
tunes of  this  campaign  personally  from  town 
to  town,  and  from  city  to  city,  throughout 
the  three  kingdoms,  for  over  a  year.  And 
time  has  only  deepened  the  impression  not 
only  of  the  magnitude  of  the  results  im- 
mediately secured,  but  equally  of  the  per- 
manence of  the  after  effects  upon  every 
field  of  social,  philanthropic,  and  religious 
activity.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
Scotland — one  can  speak  with  less  knowl- 
edge of  England  and  Ireland — would  not 
have  been  the  same  to-day  but  for  the 
visit  of  Mr.  Moody  and  Mr.  Sankey ;  and 
that  so  far-reaching  was,  and  is,  the  in- 
fluence of  their  work,  that  any  one  who 
knows  the  inner  religious  history  of  the 
country  must  regard  this  time  as  nothing 
short  of  a  national  epoch.  If  this  is  a 
specimen  of  what  has  been  effected  even 
in  less  degree  elsewhere,  it  represents  a 
fact  of  commanding  importance.  Those 
who  can  speak  with  authority  of  the  long 
series  of  campaigns  which  succeeded  this 
in  America,  testify  in  many  cases  with 
almost  equal  assurance  of  the  results 
achieved  both  throughout  the  United 
States  and  Canada. 

After  his  return  from  Great  Britain,  in 
1875,  Mr.  Moody  made  his  home  at  North- 


field,  his  house  in  Chicago  having  beer* 
swept  away  by  the  fire.  And  from  this- 
point  onward  his  activity  assumed  a  new 
and  extraordinary  development.  Continu- 
ing his  evangelistic,  work  in  America,  and 
even  on  one  occasion  revisiting  England,, 
he  spent  his  intervals  of  repose  in  planning; 
and  founding  the  great  educational  institu- 
tions of  which  Northfield  is  now  the  centre.. 


MR.  MOODY  S    SCHOOLS    AT    NORTHFIELD. 

There  is  no  stronger  proof  of  Mr. 
Moody'sbreadthof  mind  than  thatheshould 
have  inaugurated  this  work.  For  an  evan- 
gelist seriously  to  concern  himself  with  such, 
matters  is  unusual;  but  that  the  greatest, 
evangelist  of  his  day,  not  when  his  powers, 
were  failing,  but  in  the  prime  of  life,  and 
in  the  zenith  of  his  success,  should  divert 
so  great  a  measure  of  his  strength  into- 
educational  channels,  is  a  phenomenal  cir- 
cumstance. The  explanation  is  manifold. 
No  man  sees  so  much  slip-shod,  unsatisfac- 
tory and  half-done  work  as  the  evangelist;, 
no  man  so  learns  the  worth  of  solidity,  the 
necessity  for  a  firm  basis  for  religion  to 
work  upon,  the  importance  to  the  Kingdom 
of  God  of  men  who  "weigh."  The  value, 
above  all  things,  of  character,  of  the  sound 
mind  and  disciplined  judgment,  are  borne 
in  upon  him  every  day  he  lives.  Converts 
without  these  are  weak-kneed  and  useless  ; 
Christian  workers  inefficient,  if  not  danger- 
ous. Mr.  Moody  saw  that  the  object  of 
Christianity  was  to  make  good  men  and 
good  women  ;  good  men  and  good  women 
who  would  serve  their  God  and  their 
country  not  only  with  all  their  heart,  but 
with  all  their  mind  and  all  their  strength. 
Hence  he  would  found  institutions  for  turn- 
ing out  such  characters.  His  pupils  should 
be  committed  to  nothing  as  regards  a  future- 
profession.  They  might  become  ministers- 
or  missionaries,  evangelists  or  teachers, 
farmers  or  politicians,  business  men  or 
lawyers.  All  that  he  would  secure  would 
be  that  they  should  have  a  chance,  a  chance- 
of  becoming  useful,  educated,  God-fearing 
men.  A  favorite  aphorism  with  him  is,  that 
"it  is  better  to  set  ten  men  to  work  than  to 
do  the  work  of  ten  men."  His  institutions- 
were  founded  to  equip  other  men  to  work, 
not  in  the  precise  line,  but  in  the  same- 
broad  interest  as  himself.  He  himself  had 
had  the  scantiest  equipment  for  his  life- 
work,  and  he  daily  lamented — though  per- 
haps no  one  else  ever  did — the  deficiency. 
In  his  journeys  he  constantly  met  young; 
men  and  young  women  of  earnest  spirit, 


f 


226 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


with  circumstances  against  them,  who  were 
in  danger  of  being  lost  to  themselves  and 
to  the  community.  These  especially  it  was 
his  desire  to  help,  and  afford  a  chance  in 
life.  "The  motive,"  says  the  "Official  Hand- 
book," "  presented  for  the  pursuit  of  an 
education  is  the  power  it  confers  for  Chris- 
tian life  and  usefulness,  not  the  means  it 
affords  to  social  distinction,  or  the  grati- 
fication of  selfish  ambition.  It  is  designed 
to  combine,  with  other  instruction,  an  un- 
usual amount  of  instruction  in  the  Bible, 
and  it  is  intended  that  all  the  training  given 
shall  exhibit  a  thoroughly  Christian  spirit. 
.  .  .  No  constraint  is  placed  on  the 
religious  views  of  any  one.  .  .  .  The 
chief  emphasis  of  the  instruction  given  is 
placed  upon  the  life." 

The  plan,  of  course,  developed  by  de- 
grees, but  once  resolved  upon,  the  be- 
ginning was  made  with  characteristic 
decision  ;  for  the  years  other  men  spend 
in  criticising  a  project,  Mr.  Moody  spends 
in  executing  it.  One  day  in  his  own  house, 
talking  with  Mr.  H.  N.  F.  Marshall  about 
the  advisability  of  immediately  securing 
a  piece  of  property — some  sixteen  acres 
close  to  his  door — his  friend  expressed  his 
assent.  The  words  were  scarcely  uttered 
when  the  owner  of  the  land  was  seen  walk- 
ing along  the  road.  He  was  invited  in, 
the  price  fixed,  and,  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  owner,  the  papers  made  out  on  the 
spot.  Next  winter  a  second  lot  was  bought, 
the  building  of  a  seminary  for  female  stu- 
dents commenced,  and  at  the  present  mo- 
ment the  land  in  connection  with  this  one 
institution  amounts  to  over  two  hundred 
and  seventy  acres.  The  current  expense 
of  this  one  school  per  annum  is  over  fifty- 
one  thousand  dollars,  thirty  thousand  dol- 
lars of  which  comes  from  the  students 
themselves  ;  and  the  existing  endowment, 
the  most  of  which,  however,  is  not  yet 
available,  reaches  one  hundred  and  four 
thousand  dollars.  Dotted  over  the  noble 
campus  thus  secured,  and  clustered  es- 
pecially near  Mr.  Moody's  home,  stand  ten 
spacious  buildings  and  a  number  of  smaller 
size,  all  connected  with  the  Ladies'  Sem- 
inary. The  education,  up  to  the  standard 
aimed  at,  is  of  first-rate  quality,  and  pre- 
pares students  for  entrance  into  Wellesley 
and  other  institutions  of  similar  high 
rank. 

Four  miles  distant  from  the  Ladies'  Sem- 
inary, on  the  rising  ground  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  river,  are  the  no  less  imposing 
buildings  of  the  Mount  Hermon  School  for 
Young  Men.  Conceived  earlier  than  the 
former,  but  carried  out  later,  this  institu- 


tion is  similar  in  character,  though  many  of 
the  details  are  different.  Its  three  or  four 
hundred  students  are  housed  in  ten  fine 
buildings,  with  a  score  of  smaller  ones. 
Surrounding  the  whole  is  a  great  farm  of 
two  hundred  and  seventy  acres,  farmed  by 
the  pupils  themselves.  This  economic 
addition  to  the  educational  training  of  the 
students  is  an  inspiration  of  Mr.  Moody's. 
Nearly  every  pupil  is  required  to  do  from 
an  hour  and  a  half  to  two  hours  and  a  half 
of  farm  or  industrial  work  each  day,  and 
much  of  the  domestic  work  is  similarly 
distributed.  The  lads  work  on  the  roads, 
in  the  fields,  in  the  woods  ;  in  the  refectory, 
laundry,  and  kitchen  ;  they  take  charge  of 
the  horses,  the  cattle,  the  hogs,  and  the 
hens — for  the  advantage  of  all  which  the 
sceptical  may  be  referred  to  Mr.  Ruskin. 
Once  or  twice  a  year  nearly  everyone's 
work  is  changed  ;  the  indoor  lads  go  out, 
the  farm  lads  come  in.  Those  who  before 
entering  the  school  had  already  learned 
trades,  have  the  opportunity  of  pursuing 
them  in  leisure  hours,  and  though  the 
industrial  department  is  strongly  sub- 
ordinated to  the  educational,  many  in 
this  way  help  to  pay  the  fee  of  one  hun- 
dred dollars  exacted  annually  from  each 
pupil,  which  pays  for  tuition,  board,  rooms, 
etc.* 

THE    LARGE    PROFITS   OF    THE    MOODY    AND 
SANKEY    HYMN-BOOK. 

The  mention  of  this  fee — which,  it  may 
be  said  in  passing,  only  covers  half  the 
cost — suggests  the  question  as  to  how  the 
vast  expenses  of  these  and  other  institu- 
tions, such  as  the  new  Bible  Institute  in 
Chicago,  and  the  Bible,  sewing  and  cook- 
ing school  into  which  the  Northfield  Hotel 
is  converted  in  winter,  are  defrayed.  The 
buildings  themselves  and  the  land  have 
been  largely  the  gift  of  friends,  but  much 
of  the  cost  of  maintenance  is  paid  out  of 
Mr.  Moody's  own  pocket.  The  fact  that 
Mr.  Moody  has  a  pocket  has  been  largely 
dwelt  upon  by  his  enemies,  and  the  amount 
and  source  of  its  contents  are  subjects  of 
curious  speculation.  I  shall  suppose  the 
critic  to  be  honest,  and  divulge  to  him  a 
fact  which  the  world  has  been  slow  to 
learn — the  secret  of  Mr.  Moody's  pocket. 
It  is,  briefly,  that  Mr.  Moody  is  the  owner 
of  one  of  the  most  paying  literary  proper- 
ties in  existence.  It  is  the  hymn-book 

*  An  extensive  literature,  up  to  date  and  fully  describing 
all  the  Northfield  institutions,  splendidly  edited  by  Mr. 
Henry  W.  Rankin.  one  of  Mr.  Moody's  most  wise  and  accom- 
plished coadjutors,  may  be  had  at  Revell's,  112  Fifth  Avenue, 
New  York. 


MR.   MOODY:   SOME  IMPRESSIONS  AND  FACTS. 


227 


which,  first  used  at  his  meetings  in  con- 
junction with  Mr.  Sankey,  whose  genius 
created  it,  is  now  in  universal  use  through- 
out the  civilized  world.  Twenty  years  ago 
he  offered  it  for  nothing  to  a  dozen  differ- 
ent publishers,  but  none  of  them  would 
look  at  it.  Failing  to  find  a  publisher,  Mr. 
Moody,  with  almost  the  last  few  dollars  he 
possessed,  had  it  printed  in  London  in  1873. 
The  copyright  stood  in  his  name  ;  any  loss 
that  might  have  been  suffered  was  his ; 
and  to  any  gain,  by  all  the  laws  of  busi- 
ness, he  was  justly  entitled.  The  success, 
slow  at  first,  presently  became  gigantic. 
The  two  evangelists  saw  a  fortune  in  their 
hymn-book.  But  they  saw  something 
which  was  more  vital  to  them  than  a 
fortune — that  the  busybody  and  the  evil 
tongue  would  accuse  them,  if  they  but 
touched  one  cent  of  it,  of  preaching  the 
gospel  for  gain.  What  did  they  do  ? 
They  refused  to  touch  it — literally  even  to 
touch  it.  The  royalty  was  handed  direct 
from  the  publishers  to  a  committee  of  well- 
known  business  men  in  London,  who  dis- 
tributed it  to  various  charities.  When  the 
evangelists  left  London,  a  similar  commit- 
tee, with  Mr.  W.  E.  Dodge  at  its  head,  was 
formed  in  New  York.  For  many  years  this 
committee  faithfully  disbursed  the  trust, 
and  finally  handed  over  its  responsibility  to 
a  committee  of  no  less  weight  and  honor — 
the  trustees  of  the  Northfield  seminaries, 
to  be  used  henceforth  in  their  behalf.  Such 
is  the  history  of  Mr.  Moody's  pocket. 

In  the  year  1889  Mr.  Moody  broke  out  in 
a  new  place.  Not  content  with  having 
founded  two  great  schools  at  Northfield, 
he  turned  his  attention  to  Chicago,  and 
inaugurated  there  one  of  his  most  success- 
ful enterprises — the  Bible  Institute.  This 
scheme  grew  out  of  many  years'  thought. 
The  general  idea  was  to  equip  lay  workers 
— men  and  women — for  work  among  the 
poor,  the  outcast,  the  churchless,  and  the 
illiterate.  In  every  centre  of  population 
there  is  a  call  for  such  help.  The  demand 
for  city  missionaries,  Bible  readers,  evan- 
gelists, superintendents  of  Christian  and 
philanthropic  institutions,  is  unlimited.  In 
the  foreign  field  it  is  equally  claimant.  Mr. 
Moody  saw  that  aU  over  the  country  were 
those  who,  with  a  little  special  training, 
might  become  effective  workers  in  these 
various  spheres — some  whose  early  oppor- 
tunities had  been  neglected  ;  some  who 
were  too  old  or  too  poor  to  go  to  college  ; 
and  others  who,  half  their  time,  had  to 
earn  their  living.  To  meet  such  workers 
and  such  work  the  Institute  was  conceived. 

The  heart  of  Chicago,  both  morally  and 


physically,  offered  a  suitable  site  ;  and  here, 
adjoining  the  Chicago  Avenue  Church,  a 
preliminary  purchase  cf  land  was  made  at 
a  cost  of  fifty-five  thousand  dollars.  On 
part  of  this  land,  for  a  similar  sum,  a  three- 
storied  building  was  put  up  to  accommo- 
date male  students,  while  three  houses, 
already  standing  on  the  property,  were 
transformed  into  a  ladies'  department.  No 
sooner  were  the  doors  opened  than  some 
ninety  men  and  fifty  women  began  work. 
So  immediate  was  the  response  that  all  the 
available  accommodation  was  used  up,  and 
important  enlargements  have  had  to  be 
made  since.  The  mornings  at  the  In- 
stitute are  largely  given  up  to  Bible  study 
and  music,  the  afternoons  to  private  study 
and  visitation,  and  the  evenings  to  evan- 
gelistic work.  In  the  second  year  of  its 
existence  no  fewer  than  two  hundred  and 
forty-eight  students  were  on  the  roll-book. 
In  addition  to  private  study,  these  con- 
ducted over  three  thousand  meetings,  large 
and  small,  in  the  city  and  neighborhood, 
paid  ten  thousand  visits  to  the  homes  of 
the  poor,  and  "  called  in  "  at  more  than 
a  thousand  saloons. 

As  to  the  ultimate  destination  of  the 
workers,  the  statistics  for  this  same  year 
record  the  following  : 

At  work  in  India  are  three,  one  man 
and  two  women  ;  in  China,  three  men  and 
one  woman,  with  four  more  (sexes  equally 
divided)  waiting  appointment  there;  in 
Africa,  two  men  and  two  women,  with  two 
men  and  one  woman  waiting  appointment  ; 
in  Turkey,  one  man  and  five  women  ;  in 
South  America,  one  man  and  one  woman  ; 
in  Bulgaria,  Persia,  Burma,  and  Japan, 
one  woman  to  each  ;  among  the  North 
American  Indians,  three  women  and  one 
man.  In  the  home  field,  in  America,  are 
thirty-seven  men  and  nine  women  employed 
in  evangelistic  work,  thirty-one  in  pastoral 
work  (including  many  ministers  who  had 
come  for  further  study),  and  twenty-nine 
in  other  schools  and  colleges.  Sunday- 
school  missions  employ  five  men  ;  home 
missions,  two  ;  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association,  seven  ;  the  Young  Women's 
Christian  Association,  two.  Five  men  and 
one  woman  are  "singing  evangelists." 
Several  have  positions  in  charitable  in- 
stitutions, others  are  evangelists,  and 
twenty  are  teachers.  This  is  a  pretty  fair 
record  for  a  two  years  old  institute. 

Not  quite  on  the  same  lines,  but  with 
certain  features  in  common,  is  still  a  fourth 
institution  founded  by  the  evangelist  at 
Northfield  about  the  same  time.  This  is, 
perhaps,  one  of  his  most  original  develop- 


228 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


merits — the  Northfield  Training  School  for 
Women.  In  his  own  work  at  Chicago, 
and  in  his  evangelistic  rounds  among  the 
churches,  he  had  learned  to  appreciate  the 
exceptional  value  of  women  in  ministering 
to  the  poor.  He  saw,  however,  that  women 
of  the  right  stamp  were  not  always  to  be 
found  where  they  were  needed  most,  and 
in  many  cases  where  they  were  to  be  found, 
their  work  was  marred  by  inexperience 
and  lack  of  training.  He  determined, 
therefore,  to  start  a  novel  species  of  train- 
ing school,  which  city  churches  and  mission 
fields  could  draw  upon,  not  for  highly  edu- 
cated missionaries,  but  for  Christian  women 
who  had  undergone  a  measure  of  special 
instruction,  especially  in  Bible  knowledge 
and  domestic  economy — the  latter  being  the 
special  feature.  The  initial  obstacle  of  a 
building  in  which  to  start  his  institute  was 
no  difficulty  to  Mr.  Moody.  Among  the 
many  great  buildings  of  Northfield  there 
was  one  which,  every  winter,  was  an  eye- 
sore to  him.  It  was  the  Northfield  Hotel, 
and  it  was  an  eye-sore  because  it  was 
empty.  After  the  busy  season  in  summer, 
it  was  shut  up  from  October  till  the  end 
of  March,  and  Mr.  Moody  resolved  that  he 
would  turn  its  halls  into  lecture  rooms,  its 
bedrooms  into  dormitories,  stock  the  first 
with  teachers  and  the  second  with  schol- 
ars, and  start  the  work  of  the  Training 
School  as  soon  as  the  last  guest  was  off 
the  premises. 

In  October,  1890,  the  first  term  opened. 
Six  instructors  were  provided,  and  fifty- 
six  students  took  up  residence  at  once. 
Next  year  the  numbers  were  almost  doub- 
led, and  the  hotel  college  to-day  is  in  a 
fair  way  to  become  a  large  and  important 
institution.  In  addition  to  systematic 
Bible  study,  which  forms  the  backbone"  of 
the  curriculum,  the  pupils  are  taught  those 
branches  of  domestic  economy  which  are 
most  likely  to  be  useful  in  their  work 
among  the  homes  of  the  poor.  Much 
stress  is  laid  upon  cooking,  especially 
the  preparation  of  foods  for  the  sick,  and 
a  distinct  department  is  also  devoted  to 
dressmaking.  An  objection  was  raised  at 
the  outset  that  the  students,  during  their 
term  of  residence,  were  isolated  from  the 
active  Christian  work  in  which  their  lives 
were  to  be  spent,  and  that  hence  the  most 
important  part  of  their  training  must  be 
merely  theoretical.  But  this  difficulty  has 
solved  itself.  Though  not  contemplated 
at  the  founding  of  the  school,  the  living 
energy  and  enthusiasm  of  the  students 
have  sought  their  own  outlets ;  and  now,  all 
through  the  winter,  flying  columns  may  be 


found  scouring  the  country-side  in  all 
directions,  visiting  the  homesteads,  and 
holding  services  in  hamlets,  cottages,  and 
schoolhouses. 


MR.    MOODY    UNDENOMINATIONAL    AND 
UNSECTARIAN    IN    HIS    WORKS. 

Like  all  Mr.  Moody's  institutions,  the 
winter  Training  Home  is  undenomina- 
tional and  unsectarian.  It  is  a  peculiarity 
of  Northfield,  that  every  door  is  open  not 
only  to  the  Church  Universal,  but  to  the 
world.  Every  State  in  the  Union  is  repre- 
sented among  the  students  of  his  two  grea< 
colleges,  and  almost  every  nation  and  race 
On  the  college  books  are,  or  have  been 
Africans,  Armenians,  Turks,  Syrians,  Aus- 
trians,  Hungarians,  Canadians,  Danes, 
Dutch,  English,  French,  German,  Indian, 
Irish,  Japanese,  Chinese,  Norwegians, 
Russians,  Scotch,  Swedish,  Alaskans,  and 
Bulgarians.  These  include  every  type  of 
Christianity,  members  of  every  Christian 
denomination,  and  disciples  of  every  Chris- 
tian creed.  Twenty-two  denominations,  at 
least,  have  shared  the  hospitality  of  the 
schools.  This,  for  a  religious  educational 
institution,  is  itself  a  liberal  education  ;  and 
that  Mr.  Moody  should  not  only  have 
permitted,  but  encouraged,  this  cosmopoli- 
tan and  unsectarian  character,  is  a  witness 
at  once  to  his  sagacity  and  to  his  breadth. 

With  everything  in  his  special  career,  in 
his  habitual  environment,  and  in  the  tradi- 
tions of  his  special  work,  to  make  him 
intolerant,  Mr.  Moody's  sympathies  have 
only  broadened  with  time.  Some  years 
ago  the  Roman  Catholics  in  Northfield 
determined  to  build  a  church.  They  went 
round  the  township  collecting  subscript  ions, 
and  by  and  by  approached  Mr.  Moody's 
door.  How  did  he  receive  them  ?  The 
narrower  evangelical  would  have  shut  the 
door  in  their  faces,  or  opened  it  only  to 
give  them  a  lecture  on  the  blasphemies  of 
the  Pope  or  the  iniquities  of  the  Scarlet 
Woman.  Mr.  Moody  gave  them  one  of 
the  handsomest  subscriptions  on  their  list. 
Not  content  with  that,  when  their  little 
chapel  was  finished,  he  presented  them 
with  an  organ.  "  Why,"  he  exclaimed, 
when  some  one  challenged  the  action,  "  if 
they  are  Roman  Catholics,  it  is  better  they 
should  be  good  Roman  Catholics  than  bad. 
It  is  surely  better  to  have  a  Catholic 
Church  than  none  ;  and  as  for  the  organ, 
if  they  are  to  have  music  in  their  church, 
it  is  better  to  have  good  music.  Besides," 
he  added,  "  these  are  my  own  townspeople. 
If  ever  I  am  to  be  of  the  least  use  to  them, 


MR.   MOODY :    SOME  IMPRESSIONS  AND  FACTS. 


229 


surely  I  must  help  them."  What  the 
kindly  feeling  did  for  them,  it  is  difficult 
to  say  ;  but  what  it  did  for  Mr.  Moody,  is 
matter  of  local  history.  For,  a  short  time 
after,  it  was  rumored  that  he  was  going 
to  build  a  church,  and  the  site  was  pointed 
out  by  the  villagers — a  rocky  knoll  close 
by  the  present  hotel.  One  day  Mr.  Moody 
found  the  summit  of  this  knoll  covered 
with  great  piles  of  stones.  The  Roman 
Catholics  had  taken  their  teams  up  the 
mountain,  and  brought  down,  as  a  return 
present,  enough  building-stone  to-form  the 
foundations  of  his  church. 

Mr.  Moody's  relations  with  the  North- 
field  people  and  with  all  the  people  for 
miles  and  miles  around  are  of  the  same 
type.  So  far  from  being  without  honor 
in  his  own  country,  it  is  there  he  is  honored 
most.  This  fact — and  nothing  more  truly 
decisive  of  character  can  be  said — may  be 
verified  even  by  the  stranger  on  the  cars. 
The  nearer  he  approaches  Northfield,  the 
more  thorough  and  genuine  will  he  find 
the  appreciation  of  Mr.  Moody ;  and  when 
he  passes  under  Mr.  Moody's  own  roof,  he 
will  find  it  truest,  surest,  and  most  affec- 
tionate of  all.  It  is  forbidden  here  to 
invade  the  privacy  of  Mr.  Moody's  home. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  no  more  perfect  home- 
life  exists  in  the  world,  and  that  one  only 
begins  to  know  the  greatness,  the  tender- 
ness, and  the  simple  beauty  of  this  man's 
character  when  one  sees  him  at  his  own 
fireside.  One  evidence  of  this  greatness 
it  is  difficult  to  omit  recording.  If  you 
were  to  ask  Mr.  Moody — which  it  would 
never  occur  to  you  to  do — what,  apart 
from  the  inspirations  of  his  personal  faith, 
was  the  secret  of  his  success,  of  his  happi- 
ness and  usefulness  in  life,  he  would  assur- 
edly answer,  "Mrs.  Moody." 

THE    WIDE    REACH  OF  MR.   MOODY'S    LABORS. 

When  one  has  recorded  the  rise  and 
progress  of  the  four  institutions  which  have 
been  named,  one  but  stands  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  history  of  the  tangible  memo- 
rials of  Mr.  Moody's  career.  To  realize 
even  partially  the  intangible  results  of  his 
life,  is  not  within  the  compass  of  man's 
power  ;  but  even  the  tangible  results — the 
results  which  have  definite  visible  out- 
come, which  are  capable  of  statistical  ex- 
pression, which  can  be  seen  in  action  in 
different  parts  of  the  world  to-day — it 
would  tax  a  diligent  historian  to  tabulate. 
The  sympathies  and  activities  of  men  like 
D.  L.  Moody  are  supposed  by  many  to  be 
wasted  on  the  empty  air.  It  will  surprise 


them  to  be  told  that  he  is  probably  respon- 
sible for  more  actual  stone  and  lime  than 
almost  any  man  in  the  world.  There  is 
scarcely  a  great  city  in  England  where 
he  has  not  left  behind  him  some  visible 
memorial.  His  progress  through  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,  now  nearly  twenty 
years  ago,  is  marked  to-day  by  halls, 
churches,  institutes,  and  other  buildings 
which  owe  their  existence  directly  to  his 
influence.  In  the  capital  qf  each  of  these 
countries — in  London,  Edinburgh,  and 
Dublin — great  buildings  stand  to-day 
which,  but  for  him,  had  had  no  existence. 
In  the  city  where  these  words  are  written, 
at  least  three  important  institutions,  each 
the  centre  of  much  work  and  of  a  multi- 
tude of  workers,  Christian  philanthropy 
owes  to  him.  Young  Men's  Christian  As- 
sociations all  over  the  land  have  been 
housed,  and  in  many  cases  sumptuously 
housed,  not  only  largely  by  his  initiative, 
but  by  his  personal  actions  in  raising 
funds.  Mr.  Moody  is  the  most  magnificent 
beggar  Great  Britain  has  ever  known. 
He  will  talk  over  a  millionnaire  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  other  men  to  apologize  for 
intruding  upon  his  time.  His  gift  for  ex- 
tracting money  amounts  to  genius.  The 
hard,  the  sordid,  the  miserly,  positively 
melt  before  him.  But  his  power  to  deal 
with  refractory  ones  is  not  the  best  of  it. 
His  supreme  success  is  with  the  already 
liberal,  with  those  who  give,  or  think  they 
give,  handsomely  already.  These  he  some- 
how convinces  that  their  givings  are  noth- 
ing at  all  ;  and  there  are  multitudes  of 
rich  men  in  the  world  who  would  confess 
that  Mr.  Moody  inaugurated  for  them, 
and  for  their  churches  and  cities,  the  day 
of  large  subscriptions.  The  process  by 
which  he  works  is,  of  course,  a  secret,  but 
one  half  of  it  probably  depends  upon  two 
things.  In  the  first  place,  his  appeals  are 
wholly  for  others  ;  for  places — I  am  speak- 
ing of  England — in  which  he  would  never 
set  foot  again;  for  causes  in  which  he  had 
no  personal  stake.  In  the  second  place,  he 
always  knew  the  right  moment  to  strike. 

HOW      MR.      MOODY      ORGANIZED      A      GREAT 
CHARITY    IN    TEN    MINUTES. 

On  one  occasion,  to  recall  an  illustration 
of  the  last  he  had  convened  a  great  con- 
ference in  Liverpool.  The  theme  for  dis- 
cussion was  a  favorite  one — "  How  to  reach 
the  masses."  One  of  the  speakers,  the 
Rev.  Charles  Garrett,  in  a  powerful  speech, 
expressed  his  conviction  that  the  chief 
want  of  the  masses  in  Liverpool  was  the 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


institution  of  cheap  houses  of  refreshment 
to  counteract  the  saloons.  When  he  had 
finished,  Mr.  Moody  called  upon  him  to 
speak  for  ten  minutes  more.  That  ten 
minutes  might  almost  be  said  to  have  been 
a  crisis  in  the  social  history  of  Liverpool. 
Mr.  Moody  spent  it  in  whispered  conversa- 
tion with  gentlemen  on  the  platform.  No 
sooner  was  the  speaker  done  than  Mr. 
Moody  sprang  to  his  feet  and  announced 
that  a  company  had  been  formed  to  carry 
out  the  objects  Mr.  Garrett  had  advocated; 
that  various  gentlemen,  whom  he  named 
(Mr.  Alexander  Balfour,  Mr.  Samuel  Smith, 
M.  P.,  Mr.  Lockhart,  and  others),  had  each 
taken  one  thousand  shares  of  five  dollars 
each,  and  that  the  subscription  list  would 
be  open  till  the  end  of  the  meeting.  The 
capital  was  gathered  almost  before  the  ad- 
journment, and  a  company  floated  under 
the  name  of  the  "  British  Workman  Com- 
pany, Limited,"  which  has  not  only  worked 
a  small  revolution  in  Liverpool,  but — what 
was  not  contemplated  or  wished  for,  ex- 
cept as  an  index  of  healthy  business — paid 
a  handsome  dividend  to  the  shareholders. 
For  twenty  years  this  company  has  gone 
on  increasing ;  its  ramifications  are  in 
every  quarter  of  the  city  ;  it  has  returned 
ten  per  cent,  throughout  the  whole  period, 
except  for  one  (strike)  year,  when  it  re- 
turned seven  ;  and,  above  all,  it  has  been 
copied  by  cities  and  towns  innumerable  all 
over  Great  Britain.  To  Mr.  Garrett,  who 
unconsciously  set  the  ball  a-rolling,  the 
personal  consequences  were  as  curious  as 
they  were  unexpected.  "You  must  take 
charge  of  this  thing,"  said  Mr.  Moody  to 
him,  "  or  at  least  you  must  keep  your  eye 
on  it."  "  That  cannot  be,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  am  a  Wesleyan  ;  my  three  years  in  Liver- 
pool have  expired  ;  I  must  pass  to  another 
circuit."  "No,"  said  Mr.  Moody,  "you 
must  stay  here."  Mr.  Garrett  assured  him 
it  was  quite  impossible,  the  Methodist  Con- 
ference made  no  exceptions.  But  Mr. 
Moody  would  not  be  beaten.  He  got  up 
a  petition  to  the  Conference.  It  was 
granted — an  almost  unheard-of  thing — and 
Mr.  Garrett  remains  in  his  Liverpool  church 
to  this  day.  This  last  incident  proves  at 
least  one  thing — that  Mr.  Moody's  audacity 
is  at  least  equalled  by  his  influence. 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  MR.  MOODY  S  GREAT- 
NESS. 

That  I  have  not  told  one  tithe  that  is 
due  to  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  I  pain- 
fully realize  now  that  my  space  has  nar- 


rowed to  its  close.  It  is  of  small  signifi- 
cance that  one  should  make  out  this  or 
the  other  man  to  be  numbered  among  the 
world's  great.  But  it  is  of  importance  to 
national  ideals,  that  standards  of  worthi- 
ness should  be  truly  drawn,  and,  when 
those  who  answer  to  them  in  real  life  ap- 
pear, that  they  should  be  held  up  for  the 
world's  instruction.  Mr.  .Moody  himself 
has  never  asked  for  justice,  and  never  for 
homage.  The  criticism  which  sours,  and 
the  adulation — an  adulation  at  epochs  in 
his  life  amounting  to  worship  —  which 
spoils,  have  left  him  alike  untouched. 
The  way  he  turned  aside  from  applause  in 
England  struck  multitudes  with  wonder. 
To  be  courted  was  to  him  not  merely  a 
thing  to  be  discouraged  on  general  prin- 
ciples ;  it  simply  made  him  miserable. 
At  the  close  of  a  great  meeting,  when 
crowds,  not  of  the  base,  but  of  the  worthy, 
thronged  the  platform  to  press  his  hand, 
somehow  he  had  always  disappeared. 
When  they  followed  him  to  his  hotel,  its 
doors  were  barred.  When  they  wrote  him, 
as  they  did  in  thousands,  they  got  no  re- 
sponse. This  man  would  not  be  praised. 
Yet,  partly  for  this  very  reason,  those  who 
love  him  love  to  praise  him.  And  I  may 
as  well  confess  what  has  induced  me, 
against  keen  personal  dislike  to  all  that  is 
personal,  to  write  these  articles.  One  day, 
travelling  in  America  last  summer,  a  high 
dignitary  of  the  Church  in  my  presence 
made  a  contemptuous  reference  to  Mr. 
Moody.  A  score  of  times  in  my  life  I 
have  sailed  in  on  such  occasions,  and  at 
least  taught  the  detractor  some  facts.  On 
this  occasion,  with  due  humility,  I  asked 
the  speaker  if  he  had  ever  met  him  ?  He 
had  not  ;  and  the  reply  elicited  that  the 
name  which  he  had  used  so  lightly  was  to 
him  no  more  than  an  echo.  I  determined 
that,  time  being  then  denied,  I  would  take 
the  first  opportunity  of  bringing  that  echo 
nearer  him.  It  is  for  him  these  words  were 
written. 

WHITTIER'S  OPINION  OF  MR.  MOODY. 

In  the  Life  of  WThittier,  just  published, 
the  patronizing  reference  to  Mr.  Moody 
but  too  plainly  confirms  the  statement 
with  which  the  first  article  opened — that 
few  men  were  less  known  to  their  con- 
temporaries. 

"  Moody  and  Sankey,"  writes  the  poet, 
"  are  busy  in  Boston.  The  papers  give 
the  discourses  of  Mr.  Moody,  which  seem 
rather  commonplace  and  poor,  but  the  man 
is  in  earnest.  ...  I  hope  he  will  do 


MR,    MOODY:    SOME  IMPRESSIONS  AND  FACTS. 


good,  and  believe  that  he  will  reach  and 
move  some  who  could  not  be  touched  by 
James  Freeman  Clarke  or  Phillips  Brooks. 
I  cannot  accept  his  theology,  or  part  of  it 
at  least,  and  his  methods  are  not  to  my 
taste.  But  if  he  can  make  the  drunkard, 
the  gambler,  and  the  debauchee  into  de- 
cent men,  and  make  the  lot  of  their  weari- 
ful wives  and  children  less  bitter,  I  bid 
him  God-speed." 

I  have  called  these  words  patronizing, 
but  the  expression  should  be  withdrawn. 
Whittier  was  incapable  of  that.  They  are 
broad,  large-hearted,  even  kind.  But  they 
are  not  the  right  words.  They  are  the 
stereotyped  charities  which  sweet  natures 
apply  to  anything  not  absolutely  harmful, 
and  contain  no  more  impression  of  the 
tremendous  intellectual  and  moral  force  of 
the  man  behind  than  if  the  reference  were  to 
the  obscurest  Salvation  Army  zealot.  I 
shall  not  indorse,  for  it  could  only  give 
offence,  the  remark  of  a  certain  author  of 
world-wide  repute  when  he  read  the  words  : 
"  Moody  !  Why,  he  could  have  put  half 
a  dozen  Whittiers  in  his  pocket,  and  they 
would  never  have  been  noticed  ; "  but  I 
shall  indorse,  and  with  hearty  good-will,  a 
judgment  which  he  further  added.  "I 
have  always  held,"  he  said — and  he  is  a 
man  who  has  met  every  great  contempo- 
rary thinker  from  Carlyle  downward — 
"  that  in  sheer  brain-size,  in  the  mere  raw 
material  of  intellect,  Moody  stands  among 
the  first  three  or  four  great  men  I  have 
ever  known."  I  believe  Great  Britain  is 
credited  with  having  "  discovered "  Mr. 
Moody.  It  may  or  may  not  be  ;  but  if  it 
be,  it  was  men  of  the  quality  and  the  ex- 
perience of  my  friend  who  made  the  dis- 
covery ;  and  that  so  many  distinguished 
men  in  America  have  failed  to  appreciate 


him  is  a  circumstance  which  has  only  one 
explanation — that  they  have  never  had  the 
opportunity. 

An  American  estimate,  nevertheless, 
meets  my  eye  as  I  lay  down  the  pen, 
which  I  gladly  plead  space  for,  as  it  proves 
that  in  Mr.  Moody's  own  country  there  are 
not  wanting  those  who  discern  how  much 
he  stands  for.  They  are  the  notes,  slightly 
condensed,  of  one  whose  opportunities  for 
judging  of  his  life  and  work  have  been  ex- 
ceptionally wide.  In  his  opinion  : 

1.  "  No  other  living  man   has   done   so 
much  directly  in  the  way  of  uniting  man  to 
God,  and   in  restoring  men  to  their  true 
centre. 

2.  "  No   other  living  man  has   done  so 
much    to    unite  man   with  man,   to  break 
down  personal  grudges  and  ecclesiastical 
barriers,  bringing  into  united  worship  and 
harmonious    cooperation    men    of    diverse 
views  and  dispositions. 

3.  "  No    other    living   man    has    set    so 
many  other  people  to  work,  and  developed, 
by  awakening  the  sense  of  responsibility, 
latent    talents    and    powers    which    would 
otherwise  have  lain  dormant. 

4.  "  No   other    living    man,  by    precept 
and  example,  has  so  vindicated  the  rights, 
privileges,  and  duties  of  laymen. 

5.  "  No    other    living    man    has   raised 
more  money  for  other  people's  enterprises. 

6.  "  No  other  evangelist  has  kept  him- 
self so  aloof  from  fads,  religious  or  other- 
wise ;    from    isms,    from    special    reforms, 
from-  running  specific  doctrines,  or  attack- 
ing specific  sins  ;  has  so  concentrated  his 
life  upon  the  one  supreme  endeavor." 

If  one-fourth  of  this  be  true,  it  is  a 
unique  and  noble  record  ;  if  all  be  true, 
which  of  us  is  worthy  even  to  charac- 
terize it  ? 


PORTRAITS    OF    PROFESSOR    HENRY    DRUMMONJ3 

Born  at  Stirling,  Scotland,  1851. 


WHEN'     A    FRESHMAN    IN    COLLEGE.       FROM    A    PHOTON. ,.     . 
By   CROWE   AND    RODGERS,    STIRLING. 


AS   A   TRAVELLER    IN   CENTRAL  AFRICA.      AGE   35   OR   36. 


PORTRAITS  OF  PROFESSOR  HENRY  DRUMMOND.  233 


AGE   37.      1888.       FROM    A   PHOTOGRAPH    BY    I.AFAVETTE, 
DUBLIN. 


AGE  39.      1 8 


IN    1893.       FROM    A    SNAP   SHOT    IN    QUEBEC. 


234 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


PORTRAITS    OF    GEORGE    W.    CABLE. 

Boni  at  New  Orleans  October  12,  1844. 


AGE   9.       1853. 


AGE    ig.       1863. 


AGE    24.       1808. 


1882.     ''DOCTOR  SEVIER." 


236 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


AGE    40.       lS8}.       ''  BONAVENTURE.  j 


MR.    CABLE    IN    1892. 


PORTRAITS    OF    ALPHONSE    DAUDET. 


AGE   21,    PARIS,    l86l.      "  LETTERS   FROM    MY    MILL. 


AGE   30,    PARIS,    1870. 


AGE   35,    PARIS,    1875.       "  FROMONT  JEUNE   ET   RISLER 
AINE1." 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


DAUDET   AT  THE   PRESENT   DAY. 


ALPHONSE  DAUDET  AT  HOME. 


HIS     OWN     A'C  COUNT     OF    HIS     LIFE     AND     WORK 


REPORTED    BY    R.    H.    SlIKRARD. 


1  CHOUGH  now  grown  wealthy,  and  one 
of  the  first  personages  in  Parisian 
society,  being  the  most  welcome  guest  in 
such  exclusive  drawing-rooms  as  that  of 
the  Princess  Mathilde,  the  simple  and  good- 
hearted  Alphonse  Daudet  is  the  most  acces- 
sible man  in  Paris.  I  don't  believe  that 
any  one  is  ever  turned  away  from  his 
door. 

He  lives  in  the  fashionable  Faubourg 
St.  Germain  quarter,  on  the  fourth  floor  of 
a  house  in  the  Rue  de  Bellechasse  which  is 
reputed  to  possess  the  most  elegant  stair- 
case of  any  apartment  house  in  Paris.  His 
apartment  is  simply  furnished,  and  is  in 
great  contrast  to  that  of  Zola  or  of  Dumas. 
Still  there  are  not  wanting  for  its  decora- 
tion objects  of  art,  and  especially  may  be 
mentioned  some  fine  old  oak  furniture.  To 
the  right  of  the  table  on  which  he  writes  is 
a  Normandy  farmhouse  cupboard  of  carved 
oak  which  is  a  treasure  in  itself.  The 
table,  like  that  of  many  other  successful 
men  of  letters  in  Paris,  is  a  very  large  and 
highly  ornamental  one,  reminding  one  of 
an  altar  ;  while  the  chair  which  is  set  against 
it,  though  less  throne-like  than  that  of  Emile 
Zola,  is  stately  and  decorative.  Daudet's 
study  is  the  most  comfortable  room  in  the 
house.  The  three  windows  look  out  on  a 
pleasant  garden,  and,  as  they  face  the  south,' 
the  sun  streams  through  the  red-embroid- 
ered lace  curtains  nearly  all  the  day.  The 
doors  are  draped  with  Oriental  portieres; 
a  heavy  carpet  covers  the  floor,  and  the 
furniture,  apart  from  the  work-table  and 
chair,  is  for  comfort  and  not  for  show. 
Daudet's  favorite  place,  when  not  writing, 
is  on  a  little  sofa  which  stands  by  the  fire- 
place. When  the  master  is  seated  here,  his 
back  is  to  the  light.  His  visitor  sits  op- 
posite to  him  on  another  couch,  and  between 
them  is  a  small  round  table,  on  which  may 
usually  be  seen  the  latest  book  of  the  day, 
and — for  Daudet  is  a  great  smoker — cigars 
and  cigarettes.  There  are  few  pictures  in 
the  room,  but  there  is  a  fine  portrait  of 
Flaubert  to  be  noticed,  whilst  over  the 
bookshelf  which  lines  the  wall  behind  the 
writing-table  is  a  portrait  of  the  lady  to 
whom  Daudet  confesses  that  he  owes  all 


the  success  as  well  as  all  the  happiness  of 
his  life,  the  portrait  of  Madame  Daudet. 

Nothing  can  be  more  charming  than  the 
welcome  which  the  master  of  the  house  ex- 
tends to  even  the  stranger  who  calls  upon 
him  for  the  first  time.  The  free-masonry 
of  letters  or  of  Bohemia  is  nowhere  in  Paris 
so  graciously  encouraged  as  here.  His  in- 
timates he  calls  "my  sons,"  and  it  is  this 
term  that  he  applies  also  to  his  secretary  and 
confidant,  the  excellent  Monsieur  Hebner. 
His  good  humor  and  unvarying  kindness 
to  one  and  all  are  the  more  admirable 
that,  always  a  nervous  sufferer,  he  has  of 
late  years  been  almost  a  confirmed  invalid. 
He  cannot  move  about  the  room  but  with 
the  help  of  his  stick  ;  he  has  many  nights 
when,  racked  with  pain,  he  is  unable  to 
sleep  ;  and  it  is  consequently  with  surprise 
that  those  who  know  him  see  that  he  never 
lets  an  impatient  word  or  gesture  escape 
him,  even  under  circumstances  when  one 
or  the  other  would  be  perfectly  justifiable. 
The  consequence  is,  that  Daudet  has  not 
a  single  enemy  in  the  world.  There  are 
many  who  do  not  admire  his  work  ;  but 
none  who  do  not  love  the  man  for  his 
sweetness,  just  as  all  are  fascinated  with 
his  brilliant  wit.  It  is  one  of  the  rarest  of 
intellectual  treats  to  hear  Daudet  talk  as 
he  talks  at  his  table,  or  at  his  wife's  "  at- 


240 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


homes"  on  Wednesday  evenings,  or  on 
Sunday  mornings,  when  from  ten  to  twelve 
he  receives  his  literary  friends.  He  has  a 
very  free  way  of  speech,  and  when  alone 
with  men  uses  whatever  expressions  best 
suit  his  purpose  ;  but  every  sentence  is  an 
epigram  or  an  anecdote,  a  souvenir  or  a 
criticism.  It  is  a  sight  that  one  must  re- 
member who  has  seen  Alphonse  Daudet 
sitting  at  his  table}  or  on  the  couch  by  the 
fireside,  in  an  attitude  which  always  be- 
trays how  ill  at  ease  he  is,  and  yet  showing 
himself  superior  to  this,  and  with  eyes  fixed, 
rarely  on  the  person  whom  he  is  addressing, 
but  on  something,  pen  or  cigarette,  which 
he  turns  and  turns  in  his  nervous  fingers, 
conversing  on  whatever  may  be  the  topic 
of  the  day.  He  takes  a  keen  interest  in 
politics,  and,  indeed,  seems  to  prefer  to 
speak  on  these  rather  than  on  any  other 
topic  except  literature. 

HARDSHIPS    OF    CHILDHOOD    AND    YOUTH. 

When,  the  other  day,  I  asked  him  to 
tell  me  of  his  life,  he  said,  speaking  of 
his  early  youth,  "  I  have  often  tried  to  col- 
lect the  memories  of  my  childhood,  to 
write  them  out  in  Proven9al,  the  language 
of  my  native  land  ;  but  my  youth  was  such 
a  sad  one  that  these  are  all  resumed  in  the 
title  of  a  book  of  my  souvenirs  de  jeunesse, 
1  Mi  Poou,'  which  means,  in  Provenfal, 
'My  Fears.'  Yes,  fears  and  tears  ;  that  is 
what  my  youth  consisted  of.  I  was  born  at 
Nimes,  where  my  father  was  a  small  trades- 
man. My  youth  at  home  was  a  lamentable 
one.  I  have  no  recollection  of  home 
which  is  not  a  sorrowful  one,  a  recollection 
of  tears.  The  baker  who  refuses  bread  ; 
the  servant  whose  wages  could  not  be  paid, 
and  who  declares  that  she  will  stay  on 
without  wages,  and  becomes  familiar  in 
consequence,  and  says  '  thou  '  to  her  mas- 
ter ;  the  mother  always  in  tears  ;  the  father 
always  scolding.  My  country  is  a  country 
of  monuments.  I  played  at  marbles  in  the 
ruins  of  the  temple  of  Diana,  and  raced 
with  my  little  comrades  in  the  devastated 
Roman  arena.  It  is  a  beautiful  country, 
however,  and  I  am  proud  of  my  relation  to 
it.  My  name  seems  to  indicate  that  I  de- 
scend from  the  Moorish  settlers  of  Prov- 
ence ;  for,  as  you  know,  the  Provencal 
people  is  largely  of  Moorish  extraction. 
Indeed,  it  is  from  that  circumstance  that  I 
have  drawn*  much  of  the  humor  of  my 
books,  such  as  '  Tartarin.'  It  is  funny,  you 
know,  to  hear  of  men  with  bushy  black 
hair  and  flaring  eyes,  like  bandits  and  wild 
warriors,  who  are,  fhe  one  a  peaceful  baker, 


the  other  the  least  offensive  of  apotheca- 
ries. I  myself  have  the  Moorish  type,  and 
my  name  Daudet,  according  to  the  ver- 
sion which  I  like  best,  is  the  Moorish  for 
David.  Half  my  family  is  called  David. 
Others  say  that  Daudet  means  '  Deodat,' 
which  is  a  very  common  name  in  Provence, 
and  which,  derived  from  Deo  datus,  means 
'  Given  by  God.' 

"  I  know  little  of  my  predecessors,  ex- 
cept that  in  1720  there  was  a  Chevalier 
Daudet,  who  wrote  poetry  and  had  a  dec- 
ade of  celebrity  in  the  South.  But  my 
brother  Ernest,  who  used  to  be  ambitious, 
in  his  book  '  Mon  Frere  et  Moi,'  has  tried 
to  trace  our  genealogy  from  a  noble  fam- 
ily. Whatever  we  were  at  one  time,  we 
had  come  very  low  down  in  the  world 
when  I  came  into  existence,  and  my  child- 
hood was  as  miserable  a  one  as  can  b( 
fancied.  I  have  to  some  extent  related  it< 
unhappiness  in  my  book  '  Le  Petit  Chose.' 
Oh  !  and  apropos  of  '  Le  Petit  Chose,' 
let  me  declare,  on  my  word  of  honor,  that 
I  had  never  read  a  line  of  Dickens  when  I 
wrote  that  book.  People  have  said  that 
I  was  inspired  by  Dickens,  but  that  is  not 
true.  It  was  an  English  friend  of  mine, 
whom  I  had  at  Nimes,  a  boy  called  Ben- 
asset,  who  first  told  me  that  I  was  very  like 
Dickens  in  personal  appearance.  Perhaps 
that  is  the  reason  why  people  trace  a  re- 
semblance in  our  work  also. 

"  My  most  vivid  recollection  of  youth  is 
the  terrible  fear  that  I  had  of  the  mad  dog. 
I  was  brought  up  at  nurse  in  a  village 
called  Fons,  which  must  have  been  called 
so  because  there  was  no  fountain,  and  in- 
deed no  water,  within  eight  miles.  It  was 
the  most  arid  of  places,  and  doubtless  this 
was  to  some  extent  the  reason  why  there 
were  so  many  mad  dogs  in  the  district.  I 
remember  that  the  washerwomen  of  the 
village  used  to  take  train  to  the  Rhone  to 
wash  their  linen,  and  that,  when  they  re- 
turned in  the  evenings,  all  the  people  of 
the  village  used  to  line  the  road,  as  they 
passed  with  their  wet  clothes,  to  get  a 
whiff  of  cool  air  and  the  scent  of  the 
water.  Perhaps  it  was  because  there  was 
no  water  anywhere  that,  when  I  was  a 
child,  I  so  longed  for  the  sea  ;  and  that, 
when  I  did  not  wish  to  be  a  poet,  I  prayed 
that  I  might  become  a  sailor.  But  to  tell 
you  of  the  mad  dogs  that  haunted  my 
earliest  days.  My  foster-father  was  an 
innkeeper.  His  name  was  Garrimon,  which 
is  Provencal  for  '  Mountain  Rat.'  Is  not 
that  a  splendid  name — Garrimon  ?  Why 
have  I  never  used  it  in  any  of  my  books! 
Well,  Garrimon's  tavern  was  the  rendez- 


ALPHONSE  DAUDET  AT  HOME. 


vous  of  the  village.  The  caft  was  on  the 
first  floor,  and  I  can  remember  how,  at 
nightfall,  the  black -bearded,  dark -eyed 
men  of  the  village,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
one  with  a  sword,  another  with  a  gun,  and 
most  with  scythes,  used  to  come  in  from 
all  parts  of  the  district,  talking  of  noth- 
ing but  the  Chin  Foil,  the  mad  dog,  that 
was  scouring  the  land,  and  against  whom 
they  had  armed  themselves.  Then  I  ran 
to  Neno,  my  foster-mother,  and  clung  to 
her  skirts,  and  lay  awake  at  nights,  trem- 
bling, as  I  thought  of  the  Chin  Foil  and  of 
the  terrible  weapons  that  the  men  carried 
Because  they,  strong,  black-bearded  men, 
were  as  frightened  at  him  as  the  quaking 
little  wretch  who  started  at  every  sound 


that  the  wind  made  in  the  eaves  of  the  old 
house.  Where  I  lay  in  bed,  I  could  hear 
rough  voices,  as  they  sat  round  the  inn- 
tables,  drinking  lemonade — for  the  Pro- 
vencal is  so  excitable  by  nature  that  mere 
lemonade  acts  upon  him  like  strong  drink 
— and  it  was  the  Chin  Foil,  and  nothing 
but  the  Chin  Foil,  which  they  talked  about. 
But  what  brought  my  horror  to  a  climax, 
and  left  an  ineffaceable  impression  on  me, 
was,  that  one  day  I  nearly  met  the  mad 
dog.  It  was  a  summer  evening,  I  re- 
member, and  I  was  walking  home,  carry- 
ing a  little  basket,  along  a  path  white 
with  dust,  through  thick  vines.  Suddenly 
I  heard  wild  cries,  '  Aou  Chin  Foil!  Aou 
Chin  Foil!'  Then  came  a  discharge  of 


DAUDET   AND    HIS   ELDEST   SON,   LEON,    IN    DAUDET'S   STUDY. 

From  a  photograph  taken  especially  for  McClure's  Magazine. 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


guns.  Mad  with  terror  I  jumped  into  the 
vines,  rolling  head  over  ears  ;  and,  as  I 
lay  there,  unable  to  stir  a  finger,  I  heard 
the  dog  go  by  as  if  a  hurricane  were  pass- 
ing ;  heard  his  fierce  breath,  and  the 
thunder  of  the  stones  that  in  his  mad 
course  he  rolled  before  him  ;  and  my  heart 
stopped  beating,  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror, 
which  is  the  strongest  emotion  that  I  have 
ever  felt  in  all  my  life.  Since  then  I  have 
an  absolute  horror  of  dogs,  and,  by  exten- 
sion, indeed,  of  all  animals.  People  have 
reproached  me  for  this,  and  say  that  a 
poet  cannot  dislike  animals.  I  can't  help 
it.  I  hate  them  all.  I  think  that  they  are 
what  is  ugly  and  vile  in  nature.  They 
are  caricatures  of  all  that  is  most  loath- 
some and  base  in  man ;  they  are  the 
latrines  of  humanity.  And,  curiously 
enough,  all  my  children  have  inherited 
this  same  horror  of  dogs. 

"  I  remember  that  at  nineteen,  when  I 
was  down  in  the  valley  of  Chev- 
reuse,  not  far  from  Madame 
Adam's  place  at  Gif,  the  recollec- 
tion of  that  afternoon  came  upon 
me  so  strongly,  that,  borrowing 
Victor  Hugo's  title,  I  wrote  the 
'  Forty  Days  of  a  Condemned 
Man,'  in  which  I  essayed  to  depict, 
day  by  day,  the  sensations  of  a 
man  who  has  been  bitten  by  a  mad 
dog.  This  work  made  me  ill,  a 
neuropath.  Before  I  had  finished 
writing  it,  I  had  grown  to  believe 
that  I  had  indeed  been  bitten, 
and  the  result  was  that  my  hor- 
ror and  dread  were  confirmed 
The  sight  of  a  dog  is  to-day  still 
enough  to  distress  me  exceedingly. 
This  phenomenon  makes  me  think,  what  I 
have  noticed  before  and  repeatedly,  that, 
comparing  man  to  a  book,  he  is  set  up  in 
type  at  a  very  early  age,  and,  in  after  life, 
it  is  only  new  editions  of  him  that  are 
printed  ;  by  which  I  mean  that  a  man's 
character  and  habits  are  crystallized  whilst 
he  is  still  a  very  young  man,  and  in  after 
life  he  only  goes  through  the  same  phases 
of  emotion  over  and  over  again. 

"Other  memories  of  my  youth  ?  "Well, 
the  Homeric  battles  that  we  children  of 
the  town  used  to  have.  Nirnes  is  divided 
into  Huguenots  and  Roman  Catholics,  and 
each  party  hated  the  other  as  keenly  as 
they  did  in  France  on  the  day  of  Saint 
Bartholomew,  which  dawned  on  that  san- 
guinary eve.  The  feud  was  as  keen  be- 
tween the  children  of  the  town,  and  many 
were  the  battles  with  stones  that  we  fought 
in  the  streets.  I  have  on  my  forehead  to 


this  day  the  cicatrice  of  a  wound  which  I 
received  from  a  Huguenot  stone  in  one  of 
those  fights.  I  have  described  these  fights 
in  '  Numa  Roumestan  ; '  and  here  let  me 
tell  you  that  Numa  Roumestan  is  Alphonse 
Daudet.  It  was  said  that  he  was  Gam- 
betta.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  Numa  Rou- 
mestan is  Alphonse  Daudet,  with  all  his 
foibles  and  what  strength  he  may  have. 

"  My  father  had  seventeen  children,  but 
only  three  lived  to  grow  up  :  Ernest,  a 
sister  who  married 
the  brother  of  my 
wife,  and  myself.  I 
knew  only  one  of  the 
others,  being  myself 
one  of  the  younger. 
That  was  my  brother 
Henri.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  day  when 
the  news  of  his  death 
reached  home.  It 


MADAME   DAUDET   ANU    HER   DAUGH1EK. 


came  by  telegram  : 
'  He  is  dead.  Pray 
God  for  him.'  My 
father  rose  from  the 
table,  and  cried, 
'  He  is  dead  !  He  is 
dead  !  He  is  dead  ! ' 
His  gesture,  his 
intonation,  which 

had  something  of  ancient  tragedy  about 
it,  impressed  me  profoundly,  and  I  remem- 
ber that  all  that  night  I  lay  awake,  trying  to 
imitate  my  father's  voice,  to  find  the  tragic 
ring  of  his  voice,  repeating  '  He  is  dead  ! 
He  is  dead ! '  over  and  over  again  until  I 
found  it. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  longed  for  the 
sea.  How  I  devoured  the  first  novels  that 
I  read,  '  Midshipman  Easy,'  by  Marryat, 
'  Robinson  Crusoe,'  and  '  The  Pilot  '  ! 
How  I  used  to  dream  of  all  that  water,  and 
of  the  cold  winds  blowing  across  the  brine  ! 
I  dare  say  it  was  from  this  love  of  the  water 
that  I  felt  quite  happy  when  I  was  sent  to 
Lyons  to  school,  because  there  I  saw  water 
and  boats,  and  it  was  in  some  way  a  reali- 
zation of  my  longings.  I  was  ten  when  I 
was  sent  to  school,  and  I  remained  at  school 
until  I  was  fifteen  and  a  half.  1  delighted 
in  Latin,  and  became  a  good  Latin  scholar, 


ALPHONSE  DAUDET  AT  HOME. 


243 


so  that  I  was  afterwards  able  to  help  my 
son  Leon  in  his  studies,  going  over  all  his 
books  with  him.  I  loved  Tacitus  ;  disliked 
Cicero,  Tacitus  has  had  a  great  influence 
on  French  literature  since  Chateaubriand. 
What  I  best  remember  of  my  school-days 
is  the  handwriting  of  every  one  of  my  little 
comrades.  Often,  in  my  nights  of  fever, 
lying  awake,  I  have  seen,  as  in  hieroglyphs 
upon  a  huge  wall,  the  writings  of  all  those 
boys,  and  have  passed  hours,  as  it  seemed, 
in  attributing  to  its  author  each  varied 
piece  of  penmanship.  I  made  only  one 
friend,  whose  name  was  Garrison,  a  man 
of  the  most  extraordinary  inconsequen- 
tiality.  He  called  on  me  not  long  ago,  for 
the  first  time  since  we  parted  at  school, 
and  I  then  heard  that,  though  he  had  been 
in  Paris  almost  as  long  as  I  had,  he  had 
never  ventured  to  come  near  me.  He  told 
me,  after  much  hesitation,  that  he  was  a 
manufacturer  of  dolls'  boots,  in  a  street 
near  La  Roquette;  but  that  business  was 
bad,  and  he  wanted  me  to  help  him  to  do 
something  else.  I  also  learned  that  he  had 
a  son,  who,  he  told  me,  was  a  comic  actor 
at  the  Beaumarchais  Theatre. 

"  It  was  on  leaving  the  Lycee  at  Lyons 
that  I  entered  upon  what  was  the  worst 
year  of  my  life.  It  was  only  during  that 
horrible  period  that  I  ever  thought  of  sui- 
cide. But  I  had  not  the  courage  to  finish 
with  existence.  It  requires  a  great  deal 
of  courage  to  be  a  suicide.  From  the  age 
of  fifteen  and  a  half  to  the  age  of  sixteen 
and  a  half  I  was  an  usher  in  a  school  at 
Alais.  The  children  at  the  school  were 
very  cruel  to  me.  They  laughed  at  me  for 


my  short-sightedness.  They  played  imp- 
ish tricks  upon  me  because  I  was  short- 
sighted. Yet  I  tried  to  conciliate  them. 
I  remember  that  I  used  to  tell  them  stories, 
which  I  made  up  as  I  went  along.  The 
misery  that  I  afterwards  suffered  in  Paris 
was  nothing  compared  to  that  year.  I  was 
free  in  Paris.  There  I  was  a  slave,  a  butt. 
How  horrible  it  was,  and  I  was  so  sensi- 
tive a  lad !  I  have  told  of  this  in  the  pre- 
face to  '  Petit  Chose,'  which,  by  the  way, 
I  wrote  too  early.  There  was  a  child  to 
whom  I  had  been  especially  attentive,  and 
who  had  promised  me  that  he  would  take 
me  to  his  parents'  house  during  the  vaca- 
tion. I  was  so  pleased,  and  did  so  look 
forward  to  this  treat !  Well,  on  the  day 
of  the  prizes,  in  the  distribution  of  which 
my  young  friend  had  received  quite  a 
number,  which  he  owed  to  my  coaching, 
he  led  me  up  to  his  parents,  who  were 
standing,  waiting  for  him,  by  a  grand 
landau,  and  said  :  '  Papa,  mamma,  here  is 
Monsieur  Daudet,  who  has  been  so  good 
to  me,  and  to  whom  I  owe  all  these  books.' 
Well,  papa  and  mamma,  stout  bourgeois 
people  in  Sunday  clothes,  simply  turned 
their  backs  on  me,  and  drove  off  with  my 
young  pupil,  without  a  single  word.  And 
I  had- so  looked  forward  to  a  holiday  in 
the  country  with  the  lad,  whom  I  loved 
sincerely.  I  could  not  stand  the  life  more 
than  a  year,  and  at  the  age  of  seventeen 
went  to  Paris,  without  prospects  of  any 
kind,  determined  to  starve  rather  than  to 
continue  a  life  of  suffering  drudgery.  My 
brother  Ernest  was  in  Paris  at  the  time  as 
secretary  to  an  old  gentleman,  and  he  gave 
me  a  shelter.  I  had  two  francs  in  my 
pocket  when  I  arrived  in  Paris,  and  I  had 
to  share  my  brother's  bed.  I  brought  some 
rubbishy  manuscripts  with  me,  poetry, 
chiefly  of  a  religious  character. 

LITERARY    LIFE    IN    PARIS. 

"  My  first  poem,  indeed  the  first  thing  of 
mine  that  was  printed,  was  published  in  the 
'Gazette  de  Lyon,'  in  1855.  I  was  at  that 
time  fifteen  years  old.  It  was  not  long 
after  my  arrival  in  Paris  that  I  was  left 
entirely  to  my  own  resources ;  for  my 
brother,  losing  his  place  as  secretary,  was 
forced  to  leave  the  capital,  going  into  the 
country  to  edit  a  provincial  paper.  I  then 
entered  upon  a  period  of  the  blackest  mis- 
ery, of  the  most  doleful  Bohemianism.  I 
have  suffered  in  the  way  of  privation  all 
that  a  man  could  suffer.  I  have  known 
days  without  bread  ;  I  have  spent  days  in 
bed  because  I  had  no  boots  to  go  out  in. 


244 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


I  have  had  boots  which  made  a  squashy 
sound  each  step  that  I  took.  But  what 
made  me  suffer  most  was,  that  I  had  often 
to  wear  dirty  linen,  because  I  could  not 
pay  a  washerwoman.  Often  I  had  to  fail 
to  keep  appointments  given  me  by  the 
fair — 1  was  a  handsome  lad  and  liked  by 
ladies — because  I  was  too  dirty  and  shabby 
to  go.  I  spent  three  years  of  my  life  in  this 
way — from  the  age  of  eighteen,  when  my 
brother  left  Paris,  to  twenty-one. 

"  At  that  moment  Due  de  Morny  offered 
me  employment.  His  offer  came  to  me  in 
the  midst  of  horror,  shame,  and  distress. 
He  had  heard  of  me  in  this  way  :  Some 
time  before,  I  had  published  my  first  book 
of  poems,  a  small  volume  of  eighty  pages, 
entitled  '  Les  Amoureuses.'  This  book 
made  my  fortune.  De  Morny  had  heard 
the  brothers  Lyonnet  reciting  one  of  my 
poems  out  of  this  book,  a  poem  called 
'  Les  Prunes,'  at  the  empress's,  and  I  be- 
lieve the  empress  asked  him  to  make  some 
inquiries  about  the  poet.  He  sent  to  ask 
me  what  I  needed  to  live  on,  and,  accept- 
ing his  patronage,  I  entered  his  service  as 
attach^  de  cabinet.  I  passed  at  once  from 
the  most  dingy  Bohemianism  to  a  butter- 
fly life,  learning  all  that  there  is  of  pleas- 
ure and  luxury  in  existence.  But  somehow 
the  legend  of  my  Bohemianism  clung  to 
me,  as  it  has  clung  to  me  all  my  life. 
Some  people  could  never  take  me  au 
se'rieux.  I  remember  that  I  once  dined 
with  the  Due  Decazes  for  the  purpose  of 
one  of  my  novels.  I  had  written  to  tell 
him  that  I  wanted  to  make  use  of  his  ex- 
periences, and  he  had  asked  me  to  dinner. 
Well,  during  the  whole  meal  he  related 
anecdotes  of  his  career  ;  but,  thinking  that 
he  had  to  deal  with  a  Bohemian,  he  ar- 
ranged his  anecdotes,  as  he  thought,  to 
interest  me  most.  Thus  he  always  began 
each  story  with  '  I  was  taking  a  bock.'  I 
suppose  he  thought  that  my  idea  of  life 
was  of  beer-drinking  in  a  caf<f.  At  last  I 
said  :  '  Your  Excellency  seems  to  be  very 
fond  of  beer,'  and  afterwards  added  :  '  It 
is  a  drink  that  I  have  never  been  able  to 
support.'  He  seemed  to  understand  what 
I  meant,  and  changed  his  tone.  But  just 
as  I  left  him — it  was  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  the  lackeys,  I  remember, 
were  all  half  dead  with  fatigue — he  said  : 
'And  now  let  us  go  and  lay  traps  for  Bis- 
marck.' I  went  away  thinking  what  an 
ass  the  man  was  to  think  that  I  should 
believe  that  he  was  going  to  do  anything 
but  go  up-stairs  to  his  wife  ;  and  he,  no 
doubt,  went  up-stairs  to  his  wife  thinking 
what  an  ass  I  must  be  to  believe  what  he 


had  said.  From  the  age  of  twenty-one  I 
had  only  happiness.  I  may  say  that  I  was 
too  happy.  I  am  paying  for  it  now.  I 
believe  that  people  always  have  to  pay 
for  what  they  have  done  and  what  they 
have  enjoyed,  and  that  therein  lie  justice 
and  compensation  for  all,  even  on  earth. 
Everybody's  account  is  settled  in  this  life. 
Of  that  I  am  sure. 

"  As  to  my  success  :  About,  writing  for 
the  'Athenaeum,'  came  to  see  me  in  1872, 
to  ask  me  what  I  was  earning.  He  was 
writing  something  about  the  incomes  of 
various  men  of  letters,  and,  making  up  my 
accounts,  I  found  that  the  amount  of  my 
average  earnings  at  that  time  from  litera- 
ture was  five  thousand  francs  a  year.  Two 
years  later,  that  is  to  say  in  1874,  I  pub- 
lished '  Froment  jeune  et  Risler  aine,' 
which  brought  me  a  great  reputation,  and 
greatly  increased  my  income.  Since  1878 
I  never  made  less  than  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  a  year,  including  my  plays 
and  novels.  The  book  which  gave  me 
the  most  trouble  was/ L'Evangeliste,'  be- 
cause my  turn  of  mind  is  not  in  the  least 
religious.  It  was  '  L'Evangeliste,'  also, 
that  provoked  the  bitterest  criticism,  a 
book  which  made  me  numerous  enemies. 
After  its  publication  I  was  flooded  with 
anonymous  letters,  some  of  the  most  of- 
fensive character.  I  remember  receiving 
one  which  was  so  abominable  that  I  took 
it  to  Pailleron  to  show  it  to  him,  and  all 
who  saw  it  said  that  it  was  the  worst 
thing  of  its  kind  that  they  had  ever  seen. 

HABITS    OF    WORK. 

"My  way  of  working  is  irregularity  it- 
self. Sometimes  I  work  for  eighteen  hours 
a  day,  and  day  after  day.  At  other  times 
I  pass  months  without  touching  a  pen.  I 
write  very  slowly,  and  revise  and  revise. 
I  am  never  satisfied  with  my  work.  My 
novels  I  always  write  myself.  I  never 
could  dictate  a  novel.  As  to  my  plays,  I 
used  formerly  to  dictate  them.  That  was 
when  I  could  walk.  I  had  a  certain  talent 
in  my  legs.  Since  my  illness  I  have  had 
to  abandon  that  mode  of  work,  and  I  re- 
gret it.  I  am  an  improvisator,  and  in  this 
respect  differ  from  Zola.  I  am  now  writ- 
ing a  novel  about  youth,  called  '  Soutien 
de  Famille,'  and  these  note-books  of  mine 
will  show  you  my  way  of  work.  This  is 
the  first  book.  It  contains,  as  you  see, 
nothing  but  notes  and  suggestions.  The 
passages  which  are  scratched  out  with  red 
or  blue  pencil  are  passages  of  which  I  have 
already  made  use.  This  is  the  second 


ALPHONSE  DAUDET  AT  HOME. 


245 


stage.     You  see  only 
one  page    is   written 
upon,     the    opposite 
one  being  left  blank. 
Opposite    each    first 
composition    I    write 
the     amended    copy. 
The     page     on     the 
right  is  the  improved 
copy  of  the  page  on 
the   left.     After  that 
I    shall     rewrite    the 
whole.    So  that,  leav- 
ing the  notes  out  of 
consideration,  I  write 
each  manuscript  three  times  run- 
ning, and,  if  I  could,  would  write 
it  as  many  times  more  ;  for,  as  I 
have  said,   I  am   never  satisfied 
with  my  work. 

"  I  am  a  feverish  and  a  spas- 
modic worker,  but  when  in  the 
mood  can  work  very  hard.  When 
the  fit  is  upon  me  I  allow  nothing 
to  interrupt  me,  not  even  leaving 
my  writing  table  for  meals.  I 
have  my  foo'd  brought  to  my 
desk,  eat  hurriedly,  and  set  to 
work  before  digestion  begins. 
Thus  I  anticipate  the  drowsiness  that  diges- 
tion always  brings  with  it,  and  escape  its 
consequences.  Now  that  I  am  ill,  however, 
I  do  not  often  have  those  periods  of  splen- 
did energy.  I  can  produce  only  very  slowly, 
and  I  feel  quite  nervous  a/bout  'Soutien  de 
Famille  '  when  I  think  that  it  is  already  ex- 
pected by  the  public  and  announced  by  the 
publishers.  As  to  my  literary  creed,  it  is 
one  of  absolute  independence  for  the  writer. 
I  have  always  rebelled  against  the  three 
classic  traditions  of  French  literature ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  French  Academy,  the 
Theatre  Francais,  and  the  '  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes.'  I  consider  the  Academy 
a  collection  of  mediocrities,  and  would 
hold  myself  dishonored  to  be  one  of  them. 

"  I  am  very,  very  nervous.  There  are 
times  when  I  feel  that,  if  a  light  were  set 
to  me,  I  should  blaze  up  in  red  flame. 
Sometimes  this  nervousness  of  mine  plays 
me  bad  tricks.  I  remember  that  it  cost  me 
a  large  sum  of  money  one  morning  recent- 
ly. A  kind  of  dramatic  agent,  accompa- 
nied by  his  wife,  came  to  see  me,  to  ask 
me  to  sell  them  the  rights  of  translation 
of  my  play, '  Lutte  Pour  la  Vie ;  '  and  they 
bothered  and  irritated  me  so,  that,  in  order 
to  get  rid  of  them,  I  sold  them  this  right 
for  four  thousand  francs.  The  woman 
told  me  how  handsome  I  was,  and  said 
that  the  ladies  must  have  been  very  fond 


A   CORNER    IN    DAUDET  S    DRAWING-ROOM. 

of  me  when  I  was  a  young  man.  She  had 
a  hat  with  feathers  in  it,  and  was  alto- 
gether a  most  extraordinary  person.  An 
hour  later  I  heard  that  these  people  had 
sold  a  part  of  the  right  I  had  ceded  to 
them  for  thirty  thousand  francs  ;  so  that 
my  nervousness  that  morning  cost  me 
about  one  thousand  pounds. 

"  I  must  say  that  in  my  literary  work  I 
owe  nearly  all  to  my  wife.  She  rereads 
all  my  books,  and  advises  me  on  every 
point.  She  is  all  that  is  most  charming, 
and  has  a  wonderful  mind,  entirely  opposed 
to  mine,  a  synthetic  spirit.  I  married  at  the 
age  of  twenty-six,  and,  strangely  enough, 
I  had  always  vowed  that  I  never  would 
marry  a  woman  with  literary  tastes.  The 
very  first  time  that  I  met  my  wife  was  at 
a  party  at  Ville  d'Avray,  where  she  re- 
cited a  piece  of  poetry  called  '  Le  Trem- 
ble.' She  was  dressed  in  white,  and  her 
appearance,  as  well  as  the  way  she  de- 
claimed those  verses,  produced  an  im- 
mense effect  upon  me.  As  we  were  leav- 
ing the  house,  my  sister,  who  was  with  me, 
and  who  knew  my  aversion  for  women 


246 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


who  dabble  in  literature,  said  to  me, 
'  Well,  Alphonse,  that  is  not  your  style, 
is  it?'  I  confessed,  stammeringly,  that  I 
had  no  other  hope  then  than  that  that 
girl  should  become  my  wife.  I  was  fortu- 
nate enough  to  win  her,  and  it  was  the 
greatest  blessing  that  has  been  accorded 
to  me  in  the  course  of  a  most  happy  and 
successful  life.  She  is  very  different  from 
me,  practical  and  logical.  Now,  I  am 
thoroughly  superstitious.  Thus  I  have  a 
horror  of  the  number  thirteen,  and  would 
not  walk  under  a  ladder,  or  travel  on  a 
Friday,  for  any  consideration.  Our  two 
characters  are  entirely  opposed,  and  so  are 
our  ways  of  thinking.  That  is  perhaps 
why  we  are  such  excellent  friends. 

"  I  have  been  very  happy.  There  is  my 
son  L£on.  I  think  that  in  him,  Maurice 
Barres,  and  in  some  other  young  men,  lies 
the  future  of  French  literature.  And  then 
my  other  children.  There  is  my  little 
daughter  Edme"e,  the  godchild  of  De  Gon- 
court.  What  can  make  a  man  happier 
than  to  have  a  ray  of  sunlight,  like  my 
little  Edme"e,  charming,  dainty,  little  six- 
year-old  Parisienne  that  she  is,  about  the 
house  ?  There  is  a  life  of  happiness  in 
her  presence  alone." 

As  Daudet  spoke,  little  Edmee  ran  into 
the  room,  just  returned  from  a  walk,  and 
clambered  upon  the  master's  knees,  and 
kissed  him  again  and  again  ;  and  it  was  a 
pretty  sight  to  see  the  two.  Daudet  had 
some  chocolate  cigarettes  in  a  drawer,  and 
gave  them  to  his  daughter  ;  and  she  said, 
"  I  shall  die  of  happiness,"  when  he  gave 
them.  It  was  emotional  and  Provencal, 
but  sincere  and  pretty. 

"The  part  of  my  success,"  continued 
Daudet,  "  which  gave  me  the  least  pleas- 
ure, perhaps,  was  my  advancement  in  the 
Legion  of  Honor  to  the  degree 
of  officer.  I  remember  well,  it 
was  seven  years  ago,  and  I  was 
in  a  box  at  the  Theatre  Francais, 
watching  Mounet-Sully  playing 
the  part  of  Hamlet ;  and  just 
when  the  curtain  fell  on  the  first 
act,  and  I  had  risen,  saying,  '  I 
must  go  and  embrace  Mounet  ; 
he  has  been  sublime,'  I  felt  my- 
self plucked  by  the  sleeve,  and 
looking  around  saw  Floquet. 
He  seemed  much  excited,  and 
said,  '  I  have  a  good  piece  of 
news  for  you,  Daudet.  It  is 
settled.  Your  nomination  as  offi- 
cer of  the  Legion  of  Honor  will 
appear  in  to-morrow's  "Gazette." 
And  I  said,  '  Oh,  I  can't  stop  to 


talk  about  that  now  !  I  must  go  and  kiss 
Mounet,  who  has  been  magnificent.'  And 
I  remember  reading  in  Floquet's  eyes  that 
he  didn't  believe  that  my  indifference  was 
sincere.  These  people  who  decorate  us 
against  our  will — I  am  sure  that  I  never 
solicited  or  asked  for  any  such  honor  ;  and 
if  I  did  not  refuse  it,  it  was  only  because 
it  is  priggish  to  refuse,  because  it  gets  you 
talked  about — these  people,  I  say,  are  all 
people  who  themselves  are  not  decorated  ; 
who  seem  to  despise  the  reward  which 
they  dangle  before  our  eyes,  saying,  '  If 
you  are  good  boys  and  write  properly, 
you  shall  have  this  pretty  cross.'  They 
treat  us  like  children,  despising  themselves 
what  they  hold  out  to  us  as  such  a  great  in- 
ducement. Floquet  wouldn't  believe  that 
I  didn't  care  a  snap  of  the  fingers  for  his 
cross,  and  that  all  I  wanted  was  to  get 
away  behind  the  scenes  to  compliment 
Mounet  on  his  performance.  When  I  saw 
the  news  officially  announced  next  day,  I 
felt  sorry  because  I  had  received  this  dis- 
tinction above  the  head  of  De  Goncotirt  ; 
and  I  feared  lest  De  Goncourt,  for  whom 
I  have  the  greatest  reveretice,  would  feel 
hurt  at  my  having  been  preferred. 

"  Speaking  of  actors  and  of  theatres,  it 
may  be  of  interest  to  relate  that  I  never 
am  present  at  any  of  the  first  productions 
of  my  plays.  I  am  much  too  nervous,  and 
always  go  away  as  far  from  the  theatre  as 
I  can  contrive,  when  a  play  of  mine  is  being 
produced  for  the  first  time.  It  is  only  on 
the  following  morning  that  I  learn  whether 
it  has  been  a  success  or  not,  and  this  gen- 
erally from  the  manner  of  my  concierge.  If 
it  has  been  a  success,  she  is  most  respect- 
ful. If  the  papers  have  told  her  that  her 
lodger  has  scored  a  failure,  there  is  pity 
blended  with  contempt  in  the  way  in  which 


CHAMP    ROSAY,    DAUDET'S   COUNTRY    RESIDENCE. 


ALPHONSE  DAUDET  AT  HOME. 


247 


she  hands  me  my  letters.  It  is  an  amusing 
insight  into  human  character  that  is  af- 
forded to  a  dramatic  writer  by  the  conduct 
of  his  friends  and  of  acquaintances  on  the 
morrow  of  a  failure.  Some  pretend  not  to 
see  him,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  Others 
come  and  try  to  console  him,  literally  try 
to  rub  in  lotion  on  the  wounded  heart. 
The  servants  grow  familiar,  and  it  is  when 
your  porter  asks  you  for  a  box,  or  a  pair 
of  stalls  in  the  dress  circle,  that  you  know 
that  your  work  is  definitely  condemned. 


MADAME    DAUUET    IN    THE    I- LOWER    GARDEN    AT   CHAMH    ROSAY 

But  I  have  been  so  fortunate  in  life — I  am 
paying  for  it  now — that  I  have  very  rarely 
had  these  experiences." 

HIS    RETIRED    LIFE. 

Speaking  of  his  friends,  Daudet  said 
that  since  his  illness  he  has  rarely  gone 
out.  He  is  a  frequent  visitor  to  the'  house 
of  the  Princess  Mathilde,  and  rarely  a  week 
passes  without  his  visiting  De  Goncourt, 
for  whom  he  has  the  greatest  affection. 
But  the  most  part  of  his  time  is  spent  at 


home.  On  Sunday  mornings  his  friends 
call  on  him,  and  often  as  many  as  twenty 
people  are  sitting  round  his  chair,  listening 
to  his  talk.  He  has  been  particularly  spir- 
ited on  the  abominable  scandals  that  have 
been  disgusting  France  of  late,  and  those 
who  heard  it  will  not  easily  forget  the 
diatribe  which  he  pronounced  against 
Soinoury  for  his  treatment  of  Madame 
Cottu.  "I  can  see  him,"  cried  Daudet, 
"this  police  official,  full  of  his  own  im- 
portance, with  his  stupid  disdain  of  women, 
proceeding  from  his  ignorance  of  any- 
thing like  a  real  woman,  stroking  his 
whiskers,  and  saying,  'I'll  soon  get 
the  little  woman  to  say  all  that  she 
knows.' 

"  If  the  people  haven't  revolted," 
he  said,  "  and  if  there  has  been  no  rev- 
olution caused  by  abominations  which 
only  a  few  years  ago  would  have 
caused  barricades  to  rise  in  every 
street  of  Paris,  it  is  because,  as  I  have 
noticed,  a  complete  transformation 
has  been  effected  in  the  character  of 
the  French  people,  during  the  last  ten 
or  fifteen  years,  by  the  militarism  to 
which  the  country  has  been  subjected 
since  the  enforcement  of  the  new 
army  laws.  The  fear  of  the  corporal 
is  upon  every  Frenchman,  and  it  is  dis- 
cipline that  keeps  quiet  the  men  who, 
fifteen  years  ago,  would  have  pro- 
tested at  the  point  of  the  bayonet 
against  the  abominable  scoundrels 
who  are  plundering  France." 

Daudet,  it  may  be  remarked,  says 
what  he  has  to  say  without  fear  or 
reticence.  The  other  day,  in  some 
salon,  he  was  sitting  next  to  an  advo- 
cate-general who  began  a  panegyric 
on  a  certain  procureur-general,  at  that 
time  the  most  powerful  man  in  France. 
"  I  don't  want  to  hear  a  word  about 
him,"  cried  Daudet.  "  He  is  the  most 
J  abominable  scoundrel  that  I  have  ever 
heard  of." 

It  is  strange  that  with  such  frank 
outspokenness  he  should  have  so  few 
enemies,  but  the  reason  of  this  is,  no  doubt, 
the  inexpressible  charm  of  his  manner. 
One  cannot  approach  Daudet  without  lov- 
ing him — loving  him  for  his  handsome  face, 
his  large  heart,  and  the  entire  simplicity 
of  a  man  who  has  been  petted,  but  not 
spoiled,  for  so  many  years  by  Fortune  and 
Fortune's  favorites.  Amongst  men  of  let- 
ters, though  many  criticise  his  work,  he  is 
a  universal  favorite.  I  have  seen  him 
embraced  like  a  father  by  those  whom  he 
has  befriended.  His  charity  is  immense. 


248 


HUMAN  DOCUMENTS. 


DAUDET  ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  SEINE  AT  CHAMP 

Nobody  applies  to  him  for  help  or  assist- 
ance in  vain.  It  was  amusing,  and  yet 
pathetic,  to  hear  him  the  other  day  de- 
scribing the  interview  he  had  had  with  a 
poor  confrere,  who  came  in  rags,  and  who 
stood  tearing  at  his  straggling  beard,  hesi- 
tating to  tell  the  real  reason  of  his  visit, 
which  was  to  ask  Daudet  for  the  means  to 
pay  three  terms  of  rent.  Unless  he  paid 
at  once,  he  and  his  family  would  be  cast 
into  the  street.  He  went  away  a  happy 
man,  with  Daudet's  promise  that  his  need 
would  be  met. 


"  In  reviewing  my  past 
life,"  said  Daudet,  "  I  find 
that  no  period  has  remained 
more  vividly  impressed  on 
my  memory  than  the  period 
of  the  war.  My  memory  be- 
trays me  in  many  respects,  so 
that  I  have  compared  it  to  a 
forest  in  which  large  patches 
burned  up  by  the  sun  are 
quite  dead.  But  1870  is  as 
clear  in  my  mind  as  if  it  were 
yesterday.  I  can  see  the 
streets  without  light,  the 
slouching  shadows  of  the 
streets.  I  remember,  as  if 
they  had  just  crossed  my  lips, 
the  infamous  fricassees  that 
we  ate.  I  was  a  soldier  at 
the  time,  and  oh,  so  energetic 
and  full  of  life  !  It  was  the 
most  active  period  of  my  life. 
I  was  always  a  batailleur,  fond 
of  sword-play  and  the  haz- 
ards of  combat,  and  I  think 
that  that  period  was  the  most 
intense  of  my  existence. 
One  date  that  I  remember 
most  vividly  was  that  of  the 
3ist  of  October,  when  the 
news  of  the  surrender  of  Metz 
reached  Paris.  I  was  then 
the  ninety-seventh  de 
,  and  was  sent  to  com- 
municate the  news,  on  a  win- 
ROSAV.  ter's  morning,  to  Myre  de 

Villiers,  who  tookmewith  him 
to  communicate  it  to  the  soldiers  at  the  dif- 
ferent forts  around  Paris.  What  a  poign- 
ant day  that  was  !  At  each  fort  the  general 
was  surrounded  by  men.  '  Metz  is  surren- 
dered !  We  have  been  betrayed  !  Bazaine 
has  turned  traitor  !'  was  what  he  had  to 
say.  I  can  remember  some  who  burst  into 
tears,  others  who  threw  down  their  guns 
and  swore  horribly.  It  was  a  great  and  a 
terrible  experience.  Still  I  prefer  to  think 
of  that  than  of  my  horrible  childhood.  Is 
it  possible,"  cried  he,  "that  a  child  can  be 
so  unhappy  as  I  was?" 


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