網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

And still on earth Affection loves to dwell:

She curbs the passions which the bosom swell;
She soothes the wearied soul, and gives a balm
Which every wound can heal, each sorrow calm;
She darkest hours turns to brightest days;
She tattered rags in richest robes arrays;
She cheers with holy comforts till the last,
The triumph hour of suffering life is past.

Friend of mankind! Blest source of all my joys!
Say, while thy praise my willing pen employs,
Wilt thou, inspirer of the grateful song,
Direct its argument, its strain prolong,
While, led by thee, I seek the haunts of men
In crowded city, or in distant glen?
There may I see thee thy delights dispense
Alike to Poverty, or Competence;
And grant thine offices where'er a heart
Seeks sympathy, or would its griefs impart;
Or give to earth's yet favored ones a more
Refined enjoyment than they owned before.
There, haply, learn, that none are so forlorn,
Nor so above the storms of time upborne,
So weak, so vain, so callous, or so stern,
They never for thy priceless favors yearn;
Nor do not share them, if they will to share
The toils and sorrows which the o'erburdened bear;
Or strive thy cheering influence to extend,
In guise of ruler, relative, or friend;
Philanthropist, or teacher; till the world
See to the dust its tyrant masters hurled.

Oh! may I, on the hastening waves of time Gazing entranced, behold the hour sublime, When Knowledge, by Oppression unrestrained, And Freedom, by thy guardian arm sustained, Shall from the equator to the poles prevail,

Some think she came from some far distant state;
But none her earlier history can relate.

A boy was left her when her husband died,
And thus she toiled his sustenance to provide;
And much she loved him, for a Mother's heart
Against the world in arms would take the part
Of even a scornful child; but she discerned
That hers, as best he could, her love returned.
He was an idiot: and he always hung
Upon her garments when she walked, and clung
To her, as for protection, when afraid
Of those who of his fears diversion made.
And all day long he cowered by her chair,
Regarding those who passed with vacant stare:
And constantly, as to and fro he swung
His goblin head, monotonously sung
In tones subdued but strangely musical,
The only words he knew: "Pal-lal, pal·lal."

At length the Mother and her son were seen
To come no more where they so oft had been.
They missed them at the stall, and some as poor
As they, approached their humble lodgings' door;
And entering, saw the Mother on her bed:
They came too late to comfort-she was dead.
How long with life she had parted nothing told:
The scanty fire was out; the corpse was cold;
The idiot near her sat and held her hand,
And when addressed appeared to understand;
But firmer clasped it; and in softened strain,
And sadder far "Pal-lal" he sung again:
And tears were in his eyes that did express
His grief, if words and tone were meaningless.

But soon in kindness from his Mother's bed
The lonely boy was, unresisting, led;
And silent and apart from all remained,

And all the enraptured world the light of Truth shall Till one exclaimed: "Who now will be his friend ?"

hail.

Come, ye whose hearts are not ashamed to own A sympathy for woes to you unknown— Come seek with me the city's bustling streets Where Luxury with famished Penury meetsWhere Wealth with Squalor up an alley steals, And Industry the pangs of hunger feelsWhere lives Pretence, and stints her greedy maw To clothe her back as Fashion gives the lawWhere many a noble enterprise has birth, And flourish crimes as dark as stain the earth— These contrasts--these and more-consider well: But let the wildered eye a moment dwell, Where, still a contrast, yon decaying stall Leans 'gainst the church-ground's ornamented wall.

'Twas there, through summer's heat and winter's cold,
Her apples, cakes and nuts a widow sold:
And, for some five years past, she might be seen,
In mended gown, and apron coarse and clean,
To tread, with look resigned, as broke the day,
Baskets on head and arm, her cheerless way
From suburb lodgings to her place of trade,
Where patiently till evening came she stayed.

It is not known if ever o'er her head
Their cheering radiance brighter days had shed.

Then, with intelligence unknown before,
Dust in each hand he gathered from the floor,
And, as his body to and fro he swayed,
As was his wont, strewed it upon his head,
And sang, as conscious of his misery,
"Pal-lal, pal-lal," in wild heart piercing key.*

Did Instinct this true eloquence inspire?
Or, did a scintillation of the fire

Of mind, that lurked within him triumph o'er
The organs that impassive were before?

And if he felt the loss of her who still
Had served his wants and guarded him from ill-
Deprived of Reason's selfishness astute,
And of the finer instincts of the brute-
His life, though objectless to us, has known
Some moments, when Affection would have shone
Could indurated nerves her hests convey.
In calm delight upon his face of clay,

And his poor Mother-though she constant grieved
For him, and little in her lot relieved,
Yet, when she felt him clinging to her side,
Or toiled to give him bread-and 'twas her pride

The author is probably indebted to some British publication for the incidents of this tale. He found it, some years since, among the selections of a newspaper; but its origin was not stated. He thinks, however, that his own observation warrants the inferences he has drawn.

That none should aid her-did her anguished mind
In love bestowed no consolation find?
Oh, yes! she found it; for Affection gives,
Alike, to who bestows, and who receives:
She soothed the sinless idiot's helpless lot,
And in the task her greater woes forgot.

Not all the ills of want, nor pomp of state,
And costly luxuries of the misnamed great,
Can so the heart's best sympathies impair,
That fond Affection scorns to linger there.
Though pouting Pride can bid himself despise
The homely virtues of the truly wise--
Though grasping Avarice starve himself to add
Another play-thing to the heap he had--
Though wild Ambition has his flag unfurled,
And borne its bloody folds o'er half the world--
Though men by every art have madly striven
To gain the hate, alas! too freely given-
Some still remember better feelings clung
Around such callous hearts when life was young:
And they, when disappointments darkly lower,
Or fell disease has made their spirits cower,
When the sustaining passion's reign is o'er,
And dreams of selfish glory come no more,
Can list Affection's whisperings, and bow
Where purest flames upon her altars glow.

When Europe's conqueror-he, who could resign
The heart that loved him at Ambition's shrine-
Man's prisoner and death's victim, far away
From every scene of glory helpless lay,
He fondly thought upon that distant one,
Loved though the child of policy--his son-
Not now connected with ambitious plans
Of one wide empire over Europe's clans;
Nor destined now to hand his stolen crown,
Through a long line, to distant ages down.
His faithful few attendants haste to bring
The marble image of the infant king:
The dying conqueror from his pallet raised,
And his stern heart was softened as he gazed.

He died as none would die. His latest breath
Revealed "the ruling passion strong in death;"
For soon, the madness all his life made known,
Drove struggling Reason from her lofty throne;
And raised, while Nature's tempest raged amain,
A wilder tempest in his fevered brain.
And now he proudly on his war-horse sits
At Lodi's bridge, or field of Austerlitz;

At his command they form the lengthened line,
Wheel into squadrons and in column join;

And now they charge through wreaths of fiery smoke:
The shouts are loud; the hostile line is broke:
He knows the glory his, and in his pride

'Tis Reason's charge the fickle will to nerve,
Lest, heedlessly, from duty's path it swerve,
And suffer those, who faithful slaves should be,
From our control and rule, themselves to free.
But when these guardians of the realm of mind
Have with our rebel enemies combined,
Cajoling reason falsely would persuade,-
And oft succeeds-that with their treacherous aid,
Life shall be passed in triumph, or in bliss,
Before unknown in such a world as this.
'Tis then we weakly drive our longest tried
And firmest friend, Affection, from our side:
Each kind emotion of the heart we spurn,
And to our servile masters blindly turn.

Had the great conqueror-great, as men are great-
Controlled the storm that bore him to his fate,
Not given it strength, that moving 'midst its wrath
Men might the more admire his dangerous path,
He might have gloried in a purer fame,
And left his country a more cherished name.
And better far for him had life been spent
Beneath a lowly roof in calm content,
Than to have bartered for the craving joy
Ambition gives, the prattle of his boy,
The ennobling love of his discarded wife,
And many a bliss best known in humble life.

At evening the poor laborer takes his way
From the hot forge, where he has toiled all day,
Up the rough hill, till he descries the spot
Where Poverty has built his humble cot.
Welcome to him, though all unskilful placed,
Its walls of rough-hewn logs with wild-vines graced:
Welcome to him its roof with moss o'ergrown,
Pierced by the chimney built of broken stone:
Welcome to him, with twining tendrils bound,
The fence of sticks which marks his garden ground.

(There is his care before the rising sun

Calls him to toil, and when his toil is done.)

His hand upon the wooden latch is laid;
The gate is closed, lest prowling swine invade
And spoil his garden. Say, why stands he there?
Why glistens in his eye the ready tear
While lines of pleasure on his cheek appear?

Perhaps the sighing of the dying breeze
Through the high branches of the old oak trees;
Perhaps the murmurs of the neighboring stream,
Where twilight rays of mellowed splendor gleam;
And all the music of the evening hour,
O'er his unconscious soul exert their power.
Ah! sounds more soothing than even Nature's voice,
And dearer far, his listening ear rejoice.
For, now he hears the enlivening melody
Of sportive childhood and infantile glee;

Cries out: "The army's head"-and thus infatuate And, as his sturdy form obscures the door,

died.*

When sensual Appetites in power are found, Or maddened Passions leap their proper bound,

"The fifth of May came amid wind and rain. Napoleon's passing spirit was deliriously engaged in a strife more terrible than the elements around. The words' tête d'armée,' (head of the army) the last which escaped from his lips, intimated that his thoughts were watching the current of a heady fight." Scott's Napoleon.

Roused by his step, and starting from the floor,
His little prattlers round their Father press
All striving to obtain the first caress:
All speak at once, and all the tale repeat
Of childhood's sports and childhood's tasks complete.
By the low window the pleased Mother sits,
And, mindful of the winter's wants, she knits:
While on her lap, delighted with the maze
Of unwound yarn, her rosy infant plays.

The husband greets his partner with a smile,
Regardless now that all his life is toil.

But not regardless she: the well scoured board,
Spread with the herbs his garden beds afford,
And wholesome bread, supplies a rich repast,
Which might regale an epicurean taste.

Why is the poor man happy, though his lot Is indigence and labor? His are not The many comforts wealth can always bring; But some are his might be denied a king. What though, when gazing on the years to be, His eye beholds continued poverty?

He knows, and with the thought his heart dilates, For want and toil Affection compensates.

In tender years while friendly Innocence
Still lends our lives her guardian influence;
Ere yet false-shame forbids us to reveal
The sympathies we never fail to feel;
How freely, in its frankness, doth the heart

To all the world its treasured thoughts impart !
How prone its unschooled confidence to blend
In one, a fellow mortal and a friend!

But ah! these fragrant blossoms fade and die,
Like flowers of autumn, ere maturity:
For soon the chilling treacheries, and fears,
And disappointments, proved in after years,
Ere they have half unfolded into bloom,
Hasten to seal their melancholy doom.
The heart even then, which never can forget
Its nature, constant to Affection yet,

Seeks, 'mid the reckless crowd that round her press,
Some faithful, kindred hearts, its lonely lot to bless.

NOTES AND ANECDOTES,

Political and Miscellaneous--from 1798 to 1830.--Drawn from the Portfolio of an Officer of the Empire,--and translated from the French, for the Messenger.

LONG-CHAMPS IN 1804.

From the moment the conspiracy of Georges and the presence of the conspirators in Paris, was denounced by Querelle, until they were all arrested, the barriers remained closed, and no one could enter or leave Paris without the most particular permission. The inhabitants of the capital, at first deeply interested in the conspiracy, had ceased to think of it; and while the police redoubled its efforts to seize the persons who were implicated, searched the houses and demolished hiding places cunningly constructed, the great question at Paris was to ascertain how the promenade of LongChamps could take place if the barriers of l'Etoile remained closed. The question was not without interest to the government; the suppression of the fetes of Long-Champs had caused a seriousness to trade, and a sensible diminution in the revenue of the city. The police, however, did not show any inclination to yield. Luckily, the two last accomplices of Georges were arrested on the morning of Palm Sunday; an order to open the barriers was immediately given and executed, and the promenade of Long-Champs was made as usual.

TWO PIECES OF GOOD FORTUNE AT A

TIME.

It is known that Georges, when he was arrested, killed with a pistol one of the officers of police, who had thrown themselves, one in front of his horse and one at the door of his cabriolet. The first consul ordered that the money found on the person of the prisoner should be given to the widow of the unfortunate officer, and that a pension should be allowed her. The husband of this woman was in the habit of getting drunk and beating her regularly every day; so that she found herself in possession of forty thousand francs which Georges had in his cabriolet, and of a pension of twelve hundred francs, at the same moment that she was rid of her husband.

THE POIGNARD OF GEORGES.

Immediately on his arrest, Georges was conducted, in the midst of an immense crowd, to the prefecture of police, where the prefect, M. Dubois, subjected him to his first examination. Georges, very much moved in the beginning, was not long in recovering an assurance, which, however, in no respect resembled audacity; the tone of his voice was soft, his expressions well selected, and his physiognomy frank and open, was entirely different from the idea one would have formed of the chief of a bold party, of a sort of Old Man of the Mountain, a commander of assassins. A poignard adorned with a light easing in silver, was found on his person; M. Dubois, examining this poignard, said to the pri

soner:

"Is not the stamp which I perceive here the English stamp?"

"I do not know," replied Georges; "but I can assure you I did not have my poignard stamped at Paris."

THE ORDINARY RESULT OF CONSPIRACIES, PLOTS, OR INSURRECTIONS.

I have never believed that governments invented conspiracies, plots or insurrections, for their own purposes; but I have always seen so much profit drawn from them, that the opinion, so generally diffused, of the participation of public authorities or of the police in attempted assassinations, or schemes of assassination, does not seem to me very improbable. Thus the most fortunate event for the Restoration, was the assassination of the Duke de Berri, and no one, not even M. Clausel de Coussergues himself, could believe that Louis XVIII or M. Decayes armed the hand of Louvel.

It was the conspiracy of Georges, directed against the first consul, which founded the empire. Will it be said that the government of that day was privy to the conspiracy?

Georges passed the whole night that preceded his execution, in prayer; on the morning he conversed with much tranquillity and sang froid.

"I have done better than I desired," said he; "I wished to give a king to France, and I have given it an emperor."

An accusation against the government of having

planned the conspiracy, would not be more groundless in the case of Georges than in all others. It was said, and I believe even printed, that Querelle had been sent to London by the French government, to inspire Georges with the idea of this conspiracy.

ONE OF THE PROBABLE CAUSES OF THE
CONSPIRACY OF GEORGES.

If we ascend to the origin, to the birth, if I may so express myself, of the greatest events, it will be almost invariably found that some trifling cause led to these great results. I will not repeat here what has been so often said, and with so much reason, of the influence of physical predispositions on the moral character and conduct of individuals. From the time of Cromwell and the gravel which tormented him, to that of I know not what Roman, over whose resolutions digestion exercised such great influence, physical predispositions produced more criminal and good actions, than all the developments of great passions, bad or generous, put together; and it remains still to be determined whether these grand passions did not themselves originate and spring immediately from physical predispositions. But such a subject would lead into too long a digression. I wish, in this instance, to exhibit a moral cause, but a small and contemptible one, leading to a great act, to the plot of 1804.

If we reflect upon the change effected in Georges' character between 1800 to 1804, we shall have no difficulty in believing that such a man might have been reclaimed that he might have become sensible to the great courage and genius of Napoleon, by comparing him with the princes with whom he treated, and whose worthlessness and weakness he well understood.

Georges, the chief of a band, found it, in 1800, simple and natural enough to employ assassins to put an enemy out of his way. In 1804, he was no longer the same person. He had been called to treat of the pacification of La Vendée; his rank had been, if not legally acknowledged, at least admitted in fact; the part of a chief of assassins no longer suited him. It was as a general that he wished to attack a general, his enemy; he desired a combat in open day, before every one's eyes; he asserted, and nothing in the course of the trials disproved its correctness, that he designed to have attacked the first consul with a troop equal in

number to that of his escort.

in place of harsh and bitter words, he had been wel comed with encouraging language; is it unreasonable to think that Georges, with his talent (for he had talent) and his firm and energetic character, might have been made one of the most distinguished generals of our army?

Repulsed, humiliated, he turned a conspirator.

PICHEGRU.

When one, accused of a great crime, dies in prison, if his death be natural, he is said to have been poisoned; in case of suicide, to have been assassinated. It is with great conspirators, as with princes, the ordinary accidents of life are not considered to exist for them; preserved from all the diseases which affect the human family, nothing remains for them but a violent death— without this they would be immortal.

Pichegru strangled himself in the Temple; no one will dare repeat at the present day the absurd fable of the introduction of Mamelukes into his prison, for the purpose of putting him to death. The guilt of Pichegru was as plain as light; he killed himself because he knew he had lost both his honor and his chance: his chance, because he had been unsuccessful; and his honor, by betraying the republic and treating with the Bourbons for money, when clothed with an important

command.

Pichegru was not assassinated, and the agitation of the question is perfectly idle; for it must be manifest that his life was of essential importance to the accusation directed against himself, Moreau, and their accomplices.

"We have lost the best means of convicting Moreau.” It was in these terms that M. Real announced to the

first consul the death of Pichegru, and the reply of Bonaparte was: "Truly a fine end for the conqueror of Holland."

If Pichegru had not killed himself, he would certainly have been condemned to death, but he would not have been executed. The first consul had explained his intentions in the most formal manner.

"Go and examine Pichegru," said he, to M. Real; "before committing this one fault he served his country well and honorably; I have no occasion for his blood; tell him that he must regard this affair as a battle lost. He cannot remain in France; propose Cayenne to him; he knows the country; he may have a fine situation there."

effected there: "With six millions," said he, “and six thousand negroes, Cayenne may be made the most important of our colonial establishments."

There was a moment when a friendship might have been brought about between the first consul and Georges, Pichegru had too much astuteness not to comprehend to whose character Napoleon did not fear to render full from the first the intention of this demi-confidence; he and entire justice. But Napoleon, born among the aris-spoke carelessly of Cayenne, and of what might be tocracy, continued an aristocrat. A great name always exercised a powerful influence over him. When the pacification of La Vendée was signed, he received with excessive kindness every Vendean general who was a marquis or a count. For General Georges, because he was simply M. Georges Cadoudal, he had only a glance of contempt, and short and bitter words.

Now, suppose he had used towards Georges the irresistible fascination by which he so easily conquered his most determined adversaries. Suppose, instead of the scornful look, he had received him with the smile he knew how to render so irresistibly attractive; suppose

Unfortunately, M. Real never again saw Pichegru, to whom he had very openly offered his good offices with the first consul. Some days before the accomplice of Georges was found strangled in his bed, he had said to the keeper of the Temple: "I see very plainly that M. Real wishes to amuse me by his story of Cayenne."

At the time of his death, Pichegru was not so closely

* Of francs.

guarded as to be always in sight of the keepers of the prison. During the first days of his imprisonment, two gendarmes placed in his chamber, never quitted him for an instant. This surveillance annoyed him, and he asked to be freed from it. The first consul, informed of his wish, replied:

"When a man wishes to kill himself he can always find an opportunity; do not torment Pichegru; remove the gendarmes, since they are disagreeable to him."

All these evidences of the interest which the first consul felt for Pichegru, have been basely perverted by the enemies of Napoleon. But who, at this day, will dare accuse the emperor of cruelty? I ask with confidence even his most violent adversaries; I ask the author of a pretty little work, entitled 'Oyre de Corse, published in 1815; I ask the man who, for this chef d'œuvre, probably enjoys, at the present moment, a pension from the funds destined for the encouragement of literature to say if he ever believed what he has written of the natural cruelty of Napoleon.

Duke of Bordeaux, and Charles X willingly consented that Chambord should be included in the apanage of the young prince.

Finally, in 1832, the tribunals decided that the Duke of Bordeaux was lawfully dispossessed. Chambord has again become a part of the public domain. To whom will they give it next?

PAUL FIRST, EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

About the end of the year 1800, there appeared at Paris a caricature representing the emperor, Paul First, on foot; in one of his hands was written the word order, in the other counter-order, and on the forehead disorder. The political and private conduct of this prince, so long unfortunate and so worthy of a better fate, denoted an incoherence of ideas perhaps but too apparent. Bonaparte said, speaking of him, and of this incoherence in his conduct and schemes: Qui sait? c'est peut-etre un grand homme embarrassé.

It has never been shown that Bonaparte was not right; his opinion was, at least, shared by all the French who ever approached the Russian Emperor; all of whom had received from him, because of their being Frenchmen, the kindest treatment.

The Bourbons raised, or suffered to be raised, a statue to Pichegru; they had reason to do so. Pichegru, a traitor to the republic, executed conscientiously, every thing that depended on him to accomplish the treaty he concluded with the Bourbons. He demanded, in the event of his success, the baton of a Marshal of France, The death of this prince, assassinated with the conthe title of Duke, the cordon rouge, the domain of Cham-sent of his sons, the 13th of March, 1801, was brought bord, and an income of 200,000 francs. His stake con- about by the councils of England and Prussia. When sisted of his honor and his head; he lost. A statue the news reached Berlin, no trouble was taken even to cannot compensate his sacrifices. dissemble the joy which it caused.

THE DOMAIN OF CHAMBORD.

The history of this Domain of Chambord is a singular one! There are few estates in France that have been sold as often as this has been given away.

In 1797, Louis XVIII, who possessed Chambord, only in his right as king of France and Navarre, erected it into a Duchy, for the purpose of presenting it to Pichegru as the price of his treason.

In 1799, the same Louis XVIII, who had many reasons for considering his first donation as null, transferred the Domain of Chambord, under the guarantee of the Emperor of Russia, to Barras, for a promised treason.

In 1802, the commission of the constitution offered the Domain of Chambord to Bonaparte, who would not accept it.

In 1804, the emperor permitted Chambord to become a part of the imperial domain.

In 1803, by the treaty of Bayonne, signed the 12th of April, Chambord was given, in full property, to Charles IV, then king of Spain.

In 1810, the emperor presented Chambord to the prince of Neufchatel, who was charged to keep it in repair; in case of the extinction of the male line of his descendants it was to revert to the public. Berthier never went to Chambord, and suffered it to fall to ruins. In 1820, the family of the prince of Neufchatel, entirely disregarding the clause of reversion imposed at the time of the gift, sold Chambord to a commission, who purchased it, by means of a voluntary subscription, made up by all persons, under pain of being deprived of their offices, then in the civil or military employment of France. The commission offered this domain to the

The Moniteur announced the assassination of the Emperor Paul in these words:

"Paul First died during the night between the 24th and 25th of March.

"The English squadron (the same which bombarded Copenhagen) passed the Sound the 30th.

"History will inform us of the connexion between these two events."

History has, in fact, informed us; never did it speak more clearly.

ALEXANDER FIRST, EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

I have said that I would not tie myself down to a rigorously chronological order; when events seem to me in some degree connected, I intend to bring them together.

WHAT AN ATROCIOUS ACTION! Such were, according to the English physician Whilly, the last words, the last evidence of the reason of the Emperor Alexander.

Cervantes, in his immortal work, restores reason to Don Quixotte at the moment of dying. Cervantes had studied, not only the human heart, but also the singular effects, the strange peculiarities of certain diseases. Thus it has been observed that the insane generally recover their reason a few minutes before breathing their last. Is it that the debility which precedes death calms the fever, the brain excitement, called insanity? I leave to those who are wiser than I am the task of examining this question. But the phenomenon itself has been too often witnessed not to be acknowledged. George III conversed very reasonably several hours before he expired; he inquired, in the most perfectly lucid manner, for some details connected with facts which he consiVOL. III.-37

« 上一頁繼續 »