Alas! in all of us this charlatan-element exists; and might be developed, were the temptation strong enough. Lead us not into temptation! But it is fatal, I say, that it be developed. The thing into which it enters as a cognizable ingredient is doomed to be altogether transitory; and, however huge it may look, is in itself small. Napoleons working, accordingly, what was it with all the noise it made? A flash as of gunpowder wide spread; a blazing up as of dry heath. For an hour the whole universe seems wrapt in smoke and flame; but only for an hour. It goes out. The universe, with its old mountains and streams, its stars above and kind soil beneath, is still there.
The Duke of Weimar told his friends always to be of courage; this Napoleonism was unjust, a falsehood, and could not last. It is true doctrine. The heavier this Napoleon trampled on the world, holding it tyrannously down, the fiercer would the worlds recoil against him be, one day. Injustice pays itself with frightful compound interest. I am not sure but he had better lost his best park of artillery, or had his best regiment drowned in the sea, than shot that poor German bookseller, Palm! It was a palpable, tyrannous, murderous injustice, which no man, let him paint an inch thick, could make out to be other. It burnt deep into the hearts of men, it and the like of it; suppressed fire flashed in the eyes of men, as they thought of it, waiting their day! Which day came: Germany rose round him. What Napoleon did will amount in the long run to what he did justly; what Nature with her laws will sanction. To what of reality was in him; to that and nothing more. The rest was all smoke and waste. La carrière ouverte aux talens: that great true message, which has yet to articulate and fulfil itself every where, he left in a most inarticulate state. He was a great ébauche, rude-draught; as indeed what great man is not? Left in too rude a state, alas!
His notions of the world, as he expresses them there at St. Helena, are almost tragical to consider. He seems to feel the most unaffected surprise that it has all gone so; that he is flung out on the rock here, and the world is still moving on its axis. France is great, and all great; and at bottom, he is France. England itself he says is by nature only an appendage of France; another isle of Oberon to France. So it was by nature, by Napoleon-nature; and yet look how in facthere am I! He cannot understand it; that France was not all great, that he was not France. Strong delusion, that he should believe the thing to be which is not! The compact, clear-seeing, decisive Italian nature of him, strong, genuine, which he once had, has enveloped itself, half dissolved itself, in a turbid atmosphere of French fanfaronade. The world was not disposed to be trodden down under foot; to be bound into masses, and built together as he liked, for a pedestal for France and him: the world has quite other purposes in view! Napoleons astonishment is extreme. But alas, what help now! He had gone that way of his; and Nature had also gone her way. Having once parted with reality, he tumbles helpless in vacuity; no rescue for him. He had to sink there mournfully as man seldom did; and break his great heart and diethis poor Napoleon; a great implement too soon wasted, till it was useless; our last Great Man!
THE FLORAL RESURRECTION
BY THE SHEPHERD OF SHARONDALEWelcome, sweet flowers! bright Summers poetry!
I hail your fragrant coming, and again
With joy I read your brilliant imagery
Written once more in natures holiest strain:
The lowly cottage, and the princely hall
Your advent cherishethye are all to all.
Rising in glory from their winter graves,
The painted Tulip comes, and Daisy fair,
And oer the brook the fond Narcissus waves
Her golden cupher image loving there.
Those early flowers their glowing tributes bring
To weave a chaplet round the brow of Spring.
The sultry sun of June looks down, and then
Comes forth the lovely rose, the gardens pride,
To herald summer over glade and glen,
Oer wild and waste, oer mead and mountain side:
Proudly she rears her crest on high, the vain
And gay pursuivant of a brilliant train.
And now, bright Dahlia, heartless one, appear!
Thy time has come to join the festival:
Come, Perus daughter, belle of night! dost fear
To wear in glorious day thy coronal?
And thou, pale exile from the holy land,
Imperial Lily! come and join the band!
See, oer the lattice creeps the Eglantine,
And there the Jasmine clambers up the wall
To twine her wreaths with Floras blushing queen,
Rejoicing all in summers carnival:
How kind of them to deck the shepherds cot,
And with their presence cheer his humble lot!
I love ye, flowers; your odors ever bring
Back visions of the past: I love ye well;
From the lone Primrose, nursling of the Spring,
Unto the beauteous Aster, Autumns belle,
Or reared on verdant field, or ruined wall,
I love ye all, sweet flowers!I love ye all!
THE LEGEND OF DON RODERICK
NUMBER THREEThe scattered fugitives of the Christian army spread terror throughout the land. The inhabitants of the towns and villages gathered around them as they applied at their gates for food, or laid themselves down, faint and wounded, beside the public fountains. When they related the tale of their defeat, old men shook their heads and groaned, and the women uttered cries and lamentations. So strange and unlooked-for a calamity filled them with consternation and despair; for it was long since the alarm of war had sounded in their land: and this was a warfare that carried chains and slavery, and all kinds of horrors, in its train.
Don Roderick was seated with his beauteous queen, Exilona, in the royal palace which crowned the rocky summit of Toledo, when the bearer of ill-tidings came galloping over the bridge of the Tagus. What tidings from the army? demanded the king, as the panting messenger was brought into his presence. Tidings of great wo! exclaimed the soldier. The prince has fallen in battle. I saw his head and surcoat upon a Moorish lance; and the army was overthrown and fled!
At hearing these words, Roderick covered his face with his hands, and for some time sat in silence; and all his courtiers stood mute and aghast, and no one dared to speak a word. In that awful space of time passed before his thoughts all his errors and his crimes, and all the evil that had been predicted in the necromantic tower. His mind was filled with horror and confusion, for the hour of his destruction seemed at hand: but he subdued his agitation by his strong and haughty spirit; and, when he uncovered his face, no one could read on his brow the trouble and agony of his heart. Still, every hour brought fresh tidings of disaster. Messenger after messenger came spurring into the city, distracting it with new alarms. The infidels, they said, were strengthening themselves in the land; host after host were pouring in from Africa: the sea-coast of Andalusia glittered with spears and scimitars. Bands of turbaned horsemen had overrun the plains of Sidonia, even to the banks of the Guadiana. Fields were laid waste, towns and cities plundered, the inhabitants carried into captivity, and the whole country lay in smoking desolation.