a Parisian circle, necessarily composed, in part at least, of persons who had suffered from imperial tyranny. It required the whole stock of French courtesy to suppress, on these occasions, the feelings of resentment, and which were the more difficult to stifle from the novelty of the provocation. It must be observed that for some years past no person in France ever praised the emperour, except in speeches to the throne. No minister, senator, or counsellor of state, would have ventured to outrage the feelings of society by saying one word in his favour in a private salon. These personages talked of Napoleon, with quite as little ceremony as others, among their friends; in mixed company they were silent on this subject, which was considered as an etiquette belonging to their places, and was therefore admitted; but it was well understood that no attempt would be made to speak in his defence. Judge then how the French were astounded, when they heard some distinguished Englishmen extolling Napoleon the Great, which they did in the French language, but sometimes in English phraseology; and the Parisians, who like better to laugh than to be angry, occasionally avenged themselves by citing pleasantly, in different companies, these neologisms in their English idiom. How, indeed, forbear a sickly smile when we hear newly-arrived strangers, after rolling lightly along the high road in their travelling carriages, having lolled in a box at the Opera, walked through the gallery of the Museum, and eat ices at Tortoni's, gravely assert, that there is no publick misery in France, and that all is well and prosperous. The French are the same people, in one respect, as in the days of Mazarin-they will bear every thing, but they will laugh. At the time of Napoleon's return from Moscow, after the first burst of their indignation had subsided, one of the amusements of society was inventing or imagining caricatures, which no one dared to trace, but which were described in company as if they really existed. I remember one represented the entry of the French army at Moscow. They were seen advancing towards the gate, which was thrown open, and where stood a Cossack to give them admission, as if it had been the door of a spectacle. The Cossack had a label on his breast, on which was written, Entrez, entrez, Messieurs-on ne payera qu'en sortant.' The approaches towards a state of Asiatick despotism which the military tyranny of Buonaparte had made, and in which it must have terminated, if it had not been overthrown, were most conspicuous in the proscription of all freedom in literature, and the attempt to mutilate the French dramatick master-pieces. A collection of anecdotes on this subject would furnish much amusement. Miss Williams gives some account of this, and also of the venerable M. Ducis, who imitated and adapted some of the Tragedies of Shakspeare for the French stage, and which are frequently performed. They possess much merit, though the admirers of Shakspeare can hardly endure their comparison with the origi nals. "Napoleon considered the police of his own newspapers as a matter of high importance. When he was in Paris, the official paper, before it was struck off, underwent his inspection, and in the course of the impression often received imperial corrections. He was himself a contributor; his style is very distinguishable, and some of his notes are extremely curious. He affected to protect science and letters. This protection was commonly extended to persons whose mediocrity stood in need of it; small men of letters, by whom it was repaid with interest. There were, indeed, also a few men of distinguished genius, whose approbation of his measures had led him to name them to eminent posts.* Buonaparte had once been very intimately acquainted with M. Ducis, the present father of French poetry, and who has introduced Hamlet, Othello, and Macbeth, on the French stage. M. Ducis had approved Buonaparte while he thought him the friend of his country, but refused all further communion with him when he became its oppressor. The Muses in France have as little of the wisdom of this world as in other countries, and understand no better the art of being rich. Buonaparte knew that the fortune of M. Ducis was in a poetical posture,' and he offered him the place of senator, which includes a very considerable salary. Ducis rejected the place as being unfit for a poet. Buonaparte *He was, however, sometimes tired with excess of servility, and answered one of the literati, who recommended another, because he was of an ancient and noble family, by saying, peevishly, “Laissez-nous, au moins, la république des lettres !"-Leave us, at least, the republick of letters! would have decorated him with the Legion of Honour; again Ducis refused. Irritated at this obstinacy, the emperour meditated to avenge the insult, when he was pacified by some of M. Ducis's friends, who excused him on the score of his drooping age. I visited this virtuous old man, the last of the Romans, in his retreat. He was surrounded by his books, and did not appear to regret the wealth and honours he had rejected. He was presented, not long since, to the king, who addressed the poet in a citation from his own works. "The tragick talents of M. Ducis lead me to the recollection of an anecdote relating to the theatre. "Buonaparte had in the early time of his government expelled the turbulent tribunate, and reduced the legislature to a silent vote; but there was still one authority in the state which his power was unable to control; a faction which had hitherto mocked his efforts. This was the faction of the tragick poets, Corneille, Racine, Crebillon, &c. The people, amidst the suppression of their political institutions, and other violations of independence, could still repair to the theatre, and avenge themselves of Buonaparte in the persons of the Cæsars, the Neros, the Phocases, of the French stage. The people had in long tradition, for an hundred years past, applauded certain fine passages filled with horror of tyranny, or swelling sentiments of freedom; but these passages were now waited for, and hailed with such excess of applause, such a transport of admiration, that the government felt itself insulted. The actors, who were not displeased at the popular enthusiasm, and who no doubt attributed to themselves some share of the applause, strove to earn it by acquitting themselves well of their respective parts, and played the tyrant and usurper most maliciously. It became indispensable to stop this outrage on imperial feelings. The representatives of past despots, and of captive princesses, were ordered to appear at the prefecture's of police, and were accused of acting the forbidden passages with more emphasis than usual. The accusation was a delicate matter, since it implied a certain consciousness that there was something rotten in the State of Denmark;' and one of the tragical queens haughtily answered, that she wondered how any one dared to hint at such guilty applications, and that she considered them as treason against the emperour. The actors refuted the charge of saying more than was set down for them, by an appeal to the prompter's book. They were dismissed with orders to 'mouth it less,' and the poets were found to be the chiefs of the conspiracy. Their persons were beyond the reach of imperial resentment, but they did not escape punishment; being condemned to a revision of the most brilliant passages of their productions. This revision was confided to M. Esmenard, who had too much poetical taste and talent not to tremble at this sacrilegious commission. But the emperour insisted, and he was compelled to submit. He gave me a ludicrous account of his association and closetings with Buonaparte, in this murder of the classick poets. Many an important despatch was laid aside to weigh the value of an hemistich; and imperial rage against the present sovereigns of Europe was forgotten in contrivance to justify some Roman or Asiatick despot, who had fallen under the displeasure of Corneille. "The publick sought in vain to recognize their old ac: quaintances; "Qui, de simple soldat, à l'empire élevé, "Ne l'a que par le crime acquis, et conservé ; “Et comme il n'a semé qu'épouvante, et qu'horreur, "Tyran, descends du trône, et fais place à ton maître !" The publick deserted for a while the theatre, and waited the return of departed spirits. The following anecdote has been told with slight variations, and appeared in some of our newspapers, but it contains an excellent moral; and will shew, except to those magnanimous minds who think all mankind should be trampled upon by some particular nation, that insolence and oppression may at last drive their victims to resistance and revenge. "The Parisians themselves received occasional lessons from these invaders. An old countess, in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, welcomed with politeness a Prussian officer who was quartered on her house. Invited to dinner at the usual time, he ordered that it might be ready at an earlier hour, having asked some brother-officers to dine with him; and throwing himself at the same time with his dirty boots on one of the blue silk canopies. He went out, and returned alone. The dinner was served. He found the first course detestable, and threw the successive plates to which he was helped on the floor. Shewn to his apartments on the second story, he refused to occupy them, and ordered those of the first floor to be prepared for him, though told that they were inhabited by the mistress of the house. After committing a number of other extravagancies, such as smoking in the lady's boudoir, he took possession of her chamber. His servants, and dogs, having retired to the apartments prepared for their master, the lady of the house was obliged to accommodate herself with a room in the attick story. The next morning she was summoned to attend the officer, which she did with trembling, expecting to receive some new insult or humiliation. The countess was astonished at her reception. The Prussian led her gallantly to a seat, and placed himself beside her. "You have no doubt, madam,' he said, 'been shocked at my behaviour in your house. I marked your astonishment at my insolence in spoiling your silk furniture, scattering fragments of your viands on the floor, smoking in your boudoir, turning you out of your apartments, and other extravagancies. You no doubt thought me a barbarian.' The countess did not seem disposed to deny the allegation. Madam, you have a son in Prussia?' She started, and her eyes filled with tears, "I had a son, sir, but I fear he has perished.' 'Do you recognize this writing?' said the officer, shewing her the cover of a letter. Yes, sir, it is the last letter I wrote to my son, I have received no answer.' Madain, I am no barbarian; I have acted a part, and fulfilled a duty enforced on me by filial tenderness. I almost hate myself for having acted it so well. What I have made you suffer for these last few hours, your son inflicted on my palsied mother for several months. I will distress you no longer-your son is alive-In one of the last skirmishes he was wounded dangerously-I saved him from the fury of our soldiers-My mother provided for his safety-You will soon receive him to your arms. Adieu, madam, I quit your house; I have preserved your son, and I have avenged my mother.'" Miss Williams has enlivened her work with many of the little sallies of wit, that were current in the salons of Paris. Among these are two sayings of M. de Boufflers, the most |