1829.] The French Annuals. 139 
« The hotel !” growled the little man in black—“ the hotel, indeed !” 
“ Silence, I say again, greffier !” said the mayor. ‘ 
“ Yes, hotel it is!”. retorted the innkeeper ; “an hétel any time these two 
centuries.” 
« Stopped at the hétel of the Brown Bear!” added the little man in black, 
shaking his head, “ when Monsieur le Maire would have given his majesty so 
splendid an apartment !” 
“ That's true.” said the functionary, in a mollified tone. 
“Tis possible,” said the innkeeper; “but Monsieur le Maire could not 
have given him a finer pullet. Well, then! Napoleon did not eat the whole 
of it: he left some of the bones upon his plate. Now these bones are my pro- 
perty, and I can do with them what I like. I did not wish to give any to this 
greftier, who, out of revenge, has called the guard. I give bones of a chicken 
eaten by the emperor to a Chouan! As for you, Monsieur le Maire, it is quite 
another thing. Here are two wings, scarcely half picked, which I have kept 
for you—d tout seigneur, tout honneur !” 
«© Very well, very well, Master Laurent; I accept your present.—Let the 
landlord of the Brown Bear be discharged.” 
Thus ended the scene, in which the whole of the population of a town dis- 
puted for the bones of a chicken which Napoleon had left upon his plate! 
*.* If any body doubt this historical fact, we can refer to the Journal 
de Lyon for April, 1815, in which the names of the actors are given. 
Let it not be thought, from this sneering at the zeal of certain pro- 
vincial Buonapartists, that the emperor is not duly remembered with 
appropriate honours. On the contrary, his praises are often the theme 
both in prose and verse. For example, Comte G. de Pons addresses 
some very agreeable and harmonious verses to M. Horace Vernet, on 
the subject of that gentleman’s picture of Napoleon meditating on a 
military map, in 1815, just before the battle of Waterloo. We shall] 
quote a few lines of the exordium :— 
* Sous tes pinceaux féconds, peintre de notre gloire, 
Un chef triste et pensif médite la victoire ; 
Puis-je le meconnoitre, et faut-il le nommer ? 
C’est homme que le monde eut peine 4 renfermer, 
- Qui nous semble long-temps le seul Dieu des armées, 
Et qui reste toujours, en dépit des pygmées, 
Apres tant de revers vengeurs de nos succés, 
Le premier des soldats, et des soldats Frangais. 
Aux yeux des étrangers son ombre menagante 
Remplit encor nos camps de sa grandeur absente.” 
&e. &e. &e. 
He sums up the glories of his hero, but winds up with— 
«« Dans son ivresse impie, et ses joyeux festins, 
Balthazar, égarant ses regards incertains, 
Vit en mots inconnus sur le mur de porphyre 
Un doigt vengeur tracer le fin de son empire. 
Il semble que ce doigt dans le fond du tableau, 
En traits ensanglantes, ait gravé WareERto !” 
There are many very pretty verses in this little poem ; but the con- 
cluding distich is sad bathos :— 
“ Malgré ta chute immense, et l’envie en fureur”— 
What then ?— 
“ Tu naquis général, et mourus empereur.”” 
T 2 
