50 
it is already doing a great deal to pre- 
vent myself dying with grief.” 
* It is not without efforts’ said he, 
sometimes, “* that I have succeeded in 
calming my spirits on the subject of the 
number of ingrates whomI have made ; 
however, there are five of them in 
France whose conduct, with respect to 
me, is so enormous, that the horror 
with which they inspire me, recalls 
them unceasingly to my mind. Of all 
the sufferings which undermine me, 
this is not the least.” 
“ Fou a sovereign who has worn two 
crowns, I am poor, my dear Count ;* 
as a private individual I should be im- 
mensely rich, if I were on my return 
to Europe. It is then that I would 
consent to live only for three years, 
provided it were permitted me to pass 
them in France as a simple citizen. 
With what pleasure would I visit my 
old companions of arms! I would go 
to seek them at the plough and in the 
manufactories ; two-thirds of my for- 
tune would be their patrimony. How 
then am I constituted 2 In France I 
loved them in a mass, as intrepid war- 
riors, here IT cherish them, I feel for 
them individually. If it happen that 
grief and disappointment should con- 
duct me to the tomb, the misfortunes 
of the ancient army will contribute 
something towards it; they cause me 
to pass many unhappy nights.”’ 
These were, without doubt, self- 
evident troubles. We shall close the 
series of them by that which caused 
him the greatest torment; because 
night and day, at every hour, and at 
every moment, the object of it was 
present to his mind: viz. the remem- 
brance of his young son. 
All the passions of Bonaparte have 
been, with him, carried to a higher de- 
gree than among other men ; and that 
was to be expected in a man who so 
essentially differed from the vulgar of 
mankind. It is not, then, astonishing 
that the love which he bore to his son 
should have heen carried to enthusiasm. 
According to those persons who had 
access to his society at St. Helena, his 
young heir was the continual object of 
his solicitude during the last seven 
years. “ For him, alone,” he said, “I 
returned from the Isle of Elba; and if 
* Besides that, this passage bears no 
date, nothing indicates whether it is Count 
Las-Cases or Montholon, of which men- 
tion is made here. 
Last Six Months of Napoleon. 
[Keb. 1. 
I still form some expectations in exile, 
it is also for him.” “Do I deceive 
myself,” demanded he one day of the 
Countess of Montholon, “ in imagin- 
ing that this rock, all frightful as it is, 
would be an Elysium if my son were 
by my side? On receiving into my 
arms that infant so many times fer- 
vently demanded of Heaven, could [ 
have believed that one day he would 
become the source of my greatest an- 
guish ? Yes, madam, every day he 
costs me tears of blood. I imagine to 
myself the most horrid events, aud I 
cannot remove them from my mind; I 
see either the potion or the empoisoned 
fruit which is about to terminate the 
days of that young innocent, by the 
most cruel sufferings. _ Compassionate 
my weakness, madam, console me.” 
What must have been the agonisin 
tortures of a man who thus expresse 
himself? 
Bonaparte had never too much incli- 
nation for the sciences of pure amuse- 
ment. However, he had in his youth 
composed a poem on Corsica, some ex- 
tracts of which are to be found in “ Les 
Annales de l’Europe,”’ a German col- 
lection. However this may be, it is 
not yet come to the knowledge of the 
public that he had ever, since that 
epoch, composed a single verse. It 
required nothing short of the solitude 
of exile, and the idolatry which he 
manifested for his son, to inspire him 
with the following verses, which he, iu 
all probability, destined for the portrait 
of this young infant, and which never- 
theless, for reasons of which we are 
-ignorant, he kept always concealed. 
AU PORTRAIT DE MON FILS. 
De mon fils bien aimé délicieuse image ! 
Ce sont bien la ses traits, sa beauté, sa 
candeur. 
Je ne le verrai plus: sur un plus doux rivage 
Ne pourrais-je jamais le presser sur mon 
coeur ? 
O mon fils! mon cher fils! qu’aujourd’hui 
ta présence 
A Vauteur de tes jours épargnerait d’ennui ! 
Sous mes yeux, je verraiss’élever ton enfance ; 
Plus tard, de mes vieux ans tu deviendrais 
Vappui. 
Prés de toi, j’ oublierais mes malheurs et ma 
gloire ; 
Prés de toi, sur ce roc, je me croirais aux 
cieux 5 
Dans tes bras, j’ oublierais que quinze ans la 
victoire 
Avait placé ton Pere au rang des demi- 
dieux. 
We give here another version of these 
verses, 
