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It turns out, ridiculously enough, after all this warning-these menaces of midnight visits, and these promises of equatorial kisses, that the poor husband did really, one fine night, leave his army unexpectedly, and make his way to my lady's chamber,' like a goosy gander' as he found he was, for Madame, instead of pining in her lonely bed, was, it seems, gone upon a party of pleasure to Genoa, or some neighbouring town, without apprising the poor husband.' He was evidently somewhat surprised and chagrined at the untoward result of his amorous escapade, and, like a true Celadon, hints that it is enough to make a man commit suicide. 'Milan, 27th Nov. 1796.

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'I arrive at Milan-I rush into your apartment-I had left all to see you, to embrace you-you were not there-you were gone to look for amusement elsewhere-you absent yourself just when I am expected; you are tired of your dear Napoleon; you loved him by a caprice, and your inconstancy restores you to a state of indifference. Familiar with danger, I know the remedy for the cares and misfortunes of life. The misfortune I have suffered is incalculable-and it is unmerited. I shall stay here two days, but don't put yourself to any trouble-pursue your amusements-pleasure is made for you—the gay world is but too happy, if it pleases you-your husband only is very, very unhappy.'

We dare say that this unlucky excursion was perfectly innocent on the part of Josephine, but it is clear that the poor husband' was somewhat offended, and his subsequent letters, though still affectionate, are no longer quite as burning as the equator. We cannot conceive why the queen Hortense should think the publication of this little matrimonial fracas necessary to the defence of her mother's character. It seems, however, to have had no permanent consequences, for after sulking a little, Buonaparte returned to his usual style. The apparent absurdity of that style may be, we think, satisfactorily explained by reference to his wife's position and character. We do not wish to revive the old scandals about Madame de Beauharnais; we need only observe, that she was an amiable and interesting woman, of good family and agreeable manners, and that when Barras, then President of the Directory, began-what Buonaparte afterwards endeavoured to complete the restoration of a better tone of society in Paris, Madame de Beauharnais became a kind of authority in the fashionable world, and a principal ornament of the directorial court. The same day (March, 1796) conferred on General Buonaparte the hand of Madame Beauharnais, and the command of the army of Italy. It is very possible that her new husband really loved her-it is certain that he was indebted to her influence for his brilliant station and still more brilliant prospects-every

motive would incline him to live on cordial terms with her-he knew that, with a great deal of good nature at bottom, she was frivolous, capricious, and giddy-too vain not to be flattered, too indiscreet to be trusted Buonaparte therefore, like Brutus, showed his prudence by acting like a fool. As he could not venture to place a real confidence in this light-hearted and light-headed lady, he compensated her vanity by those extravagant rhapsodies of love, which, agreeable to any woman from a young hero of twenty-eight, are peculiarly so to one déjà sur le retour. This seems to have been the whole secret of his early management of the lady, and the only rational explanation of such puerile absurdities as we have just quoted.

The amatory enthusiasm, however, began to wear out, as he felt himself stronger in public opinion-there are no letters from Egypt, and the notes (there is hardly one which deserves to be called a letter) of the first consul subside into a concise, but goodhumoured familiarity, and evince a real kindness for his two stepchildren Eugene and Hortense Beauharnais, whom he seldom omits to mention. This is creditable to Buonaparte's goodnature and good sense-when we recollect that he returned from Egypt with the avowed, and not unjustifiable intention of divorcing his wife for her conduct during his absence. Having been persuaded -chiefly, we believe, by political considerations, and by the still subsisting influence of Barras-to abandon that course, he very wisely put the best face on the matter, and continued to live with her in a friendly familiarity, which on the birth of her grandchildren, in whom he saw the future heirs of his power, warmed into cordiality, and a more rational kindness than he had ever before shown. We shall select a few specimens.

'The First Consul to Josephine at Plombiers.

Malmaison, 27th June, 1803.

Your letter-good little woman-tells me that you are out of order. Corvisart (the first physician) says, however, that it is a good sign-that the baths have the desired effect, and will soon restore you. Nevertheless it is really painful to my heart to know that you are suffering.

I went yesterday to see the manufactories of Sèvres and St. Cloud.

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Say a thousand kind things to all about you. Yours for LIFE.
BONAPARTE.'

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His letters, after he assumed the crown, became shorter, but more frequent, and are, if possible, still more insignificant. They confirm, however, by slight incidental allusions, the statement which we have had from so many other quarters,—that her exaltation to the imperial dignity was the source of anxiety and unhappiness to

Josephine;

Josephine; whether, as some say, the murder of the Duke d'Enghien, or, as others think, jealousy and some vague anticipations of a divorce, or, as is most probable, both these causes operated to prey upon her mind, it certainly appears that from that time Buonaparte's chief exhortations to her are to keep up her spirits to dry her tears-to enjoy society, and to fulfil, with at least an appearance of content, her new duties. His first letter from Berlin, after the wonderful campaign of Jena, is a striking instance of the kind and quality of the attention he paid her.

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1 Nov. 1806.

Talleyrand is just arrived, and tells me, my dear (mon amie), that you do nothing but weep. What can be the matter? You have your daughter, your grandchildren, and good news. That is surely enough to make you happy. The weather is magnificent-not one drop of rain has fallen during the whole campaign. I am very well, and everything goes right. Adieu, my love! I have received a letter from M. Napoleon (the grandchild), but I suppose it was not written by him, but his mother. A thousand kind things to everybody.-N.'. Again,

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Warsaw, 16th January, 1807.

I am grieved at what I hear of your spirits. Why in tears-why in grief? I shall soon return-never doubt my affection. If you wish to be still dearer to me, show some courage and strength of mind. I am mortified to think that my wife can distrust my distances.' And again, two days after,

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They tell me that you are for ever in tears-fie, fie, that is wrong! Take courage and show yourself worthy of me. Hold your courts in Paris with suitable dignity; but, above all, be happy. I am well, and love you sincerely, but if you are for ever crying, I shall think you have no firmness of mind. I don't love cowards-(les laches)—an empress should have courage.-N.'

We were, at first, a good deal surprised at the number and nothingness of the notes which, at some of the most critical moments of his career, Buonaparte took the trouble of writing to the empress. We found some difficulty in reconciling the frequency of these communications with their inanity. They seem all composed on one plan: each has two principal topics-his own personal health, which is always good, and the weather, which is sometimes good, sometimes bad; but he generally throws in a slight hint about the army, which is always superbe and successful. As to this latter business, it is observable that his greatest victories are sometimes only alluded to in a parenthesis of three words; while, on the other hand, in cases where the success was really more doubtful, he insists, with unusual earnestness, on the prosperous position of his affairs. The explanation of the enigma

seems

seems to be this.-Buonaparte was much annoyed by the gossip of Josephine's society (some persons of which he occasionally sent into exile). He complains that all the bad news and unfavourable reports of Paris originate in her familiar circle; and it was, we are satisfied, to counteract this tendency, and to give a favourable idea of his position, that we find him, in some of his most important and critical moments-take the battle of Eylau for instance-writing to her such billets as follow:

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Eylau, 9th Feb. 1807. 'My dear-There was yesterday a great battle. The victory was eventually ours (la victoire m'est restée), but I have lost a great number of men. The loss of the enemy, which is still greater, does not console me. I write you these two lines with my own hand, though much tired, to assure you that I am well.'

Another note of the same evening, and two others of the 11th and 12th, follow to the same effect-a fifth of the 14th says:

I am still at Eylau. The country is covered with dead and wounded, but I am well. I have done what I wish and repulsed the enemy, whose projects I have baffled.'

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He repeats, on the 17th, that the battle was bloody and obstinate, but that he is well, and he writes two words' to say that all is well on the 18th-twice on the 20th-on the 21st and on the 23rd Feb.-three times in the first week of March-and again on the 11th of March he reverts to the subject by saying,

6 A great deal of nonsense will be talked about the battle of Eylau; but the bulletin tells all, and rather exaggerates than diminishes our losses.'-p. 283.

So many letters in so short a time, and each of only two lines. to say he is well, savours more of the tender husband than could have been accounted for, but the FIFTEENTH billet-doux gives us le mot de l'énigme.

Osterode, 13th March, 1807.

I learn, my dear, that the unfavourable reports which used to circulate in your drawing-room at Mentz are renewed in Paris. Silence those people. I shall be very much displeased if you do not stop this.'

In short, Buonaparte knew very well that his bulletins had become of very doubtful authority, particularly when not corroborated by some decisive advance (after Eylau he had not been able to advance a step); and, with consummate ability, he despatched these little notes to his wife, which he knew would be circulated in Paris, and by their domestic and confidential style produce more effect than the discredited bulletins. In this point of view these letters may be of some value to the historian; in every other they are wholly worthless; indeed, it seems wonderful

that

that such a man in such circumstances, during eighteen years of so eventful a life, should have been able to write two hundred and thirty-eight letters without mentioning one single political event, which had not been previously or at latest simultaneously published in the gazettes-without announcing, in any one instance, his own intentions-without anticipating, by the most remote hint, his own proceedings or projects, trifling or important -without communicating, in the frequency and apparent freedom of conjugal correspondence, one word, thought, or deed, which might not have been proclaimed on the Bourse, and which, if so proclaimed, could have interested the greediest Quidnunc. This is assuredly a most singular fact; but the Reine Hortense is greatly mistaken in imagining that its promulgation could either exalt or render more amiable or more respectable the domestic character of Josephine. As to Buonaparte himself-whatever may have been the motive that dictated these communications-they certainly exhibit more kindness, more ease, and more good nature than we had given him credit for possessing. His wife had, it is clear, no share in his thoughts; but he was not deficient in personal attentions to the partner of his throne.

ART. VIII.-Life and Poems of the Rev. George Crabbe. By his Son. Vol. viii. 12mo. London, 1834.

WE do not on this occasion propose to enter at large upon the subject of Mr. Crabbe's poetry. It is now certain that a Selection from his prose writings will soon be laid before the public; and until that has appeared, the consideration of his literary character, as a whole, must be deferred. We mean,

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therefore, at present, to confine ourselves to the easy and humble task of reviewing, in a very cursory manner, the last volume of the younger Crabbe's edition of his father's poetical works-that which consists entirely of new matter. In the other volumes of the series, various little pieces have for the first time been published-and some of these appear to us highly meritorious : indeed, the dialogue called Flirtation' (in vol. v.) is a fair specimen of his lightest humour; and The World of Dreams' (vol. iv.), though obviously unfinished in some parts, is on the whole a lyrical composition of extraordinary power, interest, and beauty. But the editor reserved unbroken for his concluding volume those Tales which the poet himself had destined and prepared for posthumous publication; and to these we must give the space that we have now at our disposal.

The volume is fitly dedicated to the kindest and most distinguished

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