and yet he had the shamelessness to call himself the friend of France and a good Republican; and he deceived the Convention still, after all. He acted, in short, in such a way, that when at length he was unmasked by his own letters found at Calvi,-it was too late,-the fleets of our enemies intercepted all intercourse with the island.

It is no longer to words that we must trust. We must analyse deeds; and in appreciating yours, it is easy, you must acknowledge, to show you to be counter-revolutionary. Take my advice, people of Marseilles: shake off the yoke of the handful of wretches who are leading you to a counter-revolution; restore your constituted authorities; accept the constitution; liberate the representatives; let them go to Paris and intercede for you: you have been misled-it is no new thing for the people to be so-by a few conspirators and intriguers. In all ages, the flexibility and ignorance of the multitude have been the causes of most civil wars.

Marseillese.-Ah! sir, who is to bring the good about? Can it be the refugees who arrive on all sides from the department? They are interested in acting with desperation. Can it be those who at this moment govern us? Are not they in the same situation? Can it be the people? One portion of them knows nothing of its real position; it is blinded and fanaticized: the other portion is disarmed, suspected, humbled. I see, therefore, with deep affliction, miseries without remedy.

Militaire.-At last you are brought to reason. Why should not a like change be effected in the minds of a large portion of your fellow-citizens, who are deluded and sincere? In that case, Albitte, who can have no other wish than to spare French blood, will send you some honest and able man; matters will be arranged; and without a moment's delay, the army will march under the walls of Perpignan, to make the Spaniard dance the Carmagnole; and Marseilles will continue to be the centre of gravity to liberty. The only thing necessary will be to tear a few leaves out of its history.

This happy prognostic put us all in excellent humour. The citizens of Marseilles, with great readiness, treated us to some bottles of champagne, which dispelled all our doubts and anxieties. We retired to rest at two in the morning, having agreed to meet again at breakfast; where my new acquaintance had still many doubts to suggest, and I many interesting truths to impart. July 29, 1793.

No. IV.

LETTERS OF NAPOLEON TO JOSEPHINE.
[See p. 166.]

[In the first Edition of this Work, Sir Walter Scott introduced, by way of foot notes, a few translations from the Letters of Napoleon and Josephine during the campain of 1796, published in 1824 by Mr. Tennant. But the larger collection of those letters, edited by Josephine's daughter, the Duchess of St. Leu, had not then appeared. We now reprint the versions which Sir Walter thought fit to give; and append to them some specimens of the native style and orthography of the correspondence.]

(1.)

NAPOLEON TO JOSEPHINE.

(Translation.)

"Port Maurice, the 14th Germinal, (April 4, 1796.

"I have received all thy letters: but not one of them has affected me so much as thy last. Dost thou think, my adorable love, of writing to me in such terms? Dost thou imagine, then, that my position is not already cruel enough, without an increase of my sorrows, and an overthrow of my soul? What a style! what sentiments dost thou describe. They are of fire-they burn my poor heart. My only Josephine !-far from thee there is no joy ;-far from thee

the world is a desert, where I remain an isolated being, without enjoying the sweets of confidence. Thou hast deprived me of more than my soul; thou art the only thought of my life. If I am tired of the troubles of business-if I dread the result--if mankind disgust me-if I am ready to curse this life-I place my hand upon my heart-there thy portrait beats-I look at it, and love becomes to me absolute happiness; all is smiling, save the time when I am separated from my beloved.

"By what is it that thou hast been able to captivate all my faculties, and to concentrate in thyself my moral existence? It is a magic, my sweet love, which will finish only with my life. To live for Josephine-there is the history of my life. I am trying to reach thee-I am dying to be near thee. Fool that I am, I do not perceive that I increase the distance between us. What lands, what countries separate us! What a time before you read these weak expressions of a troubled soul in which you reign! Ah! my adorable wife! I know not what fate awaits me, but if it keep me much longer from thee, it will be insupportable-my courage will not go so far. There was a time when I was proud of my courage; and sometimes, when contemplating on the ills that man could do me, on the fate which destiny could reserve for me, I fixed my eyes steadfastly on the most unheard-of misfortunes without a frown, without alarm. But now, the idea that my Josephine may be unwell, the idea that she may be ill, and, above all, the cruel, the fatal thought, that she may love me less, withers my soul, stops my blood, renders me sad, cast down, and leaves me not even the courage of fury and despair. Formerly I used often to say to myself, men cannot hurt him who can die without regret; but now, to die without being loved by thee, to die without that certainty, is the torment of hell; it is the lively and striking image of absolute annihilation-I feel as if I were stifled. My incomparable companion, thou whom fate has destined to make along with me the painful journey of life, the day on which I shall cease to possess thy heart will be the day on which parched nature will be to me without warmth or vegetation.

"I stop, my sweet love, my soul is sad-my body is fatigued-my head is giddy-men disgust me-I ought to hate them-they separate me from my beloved.

"I am at Port Maurice, near Oneille; to-morrow I shall be at Albenga; the two armies are in motion-We are endeavouring to deceive each other-Victory to the most skilful! I am pretty well satisfied with Beaulieu-If he alarm me much, he is a better man than his predecessor. I shall beat him I hope in good style. Do not be uneasy-love me as your eyes-but that is not enoughas yourself, more than yourself, than your thought, your mind, your sight, your all. Sweet love, forgive me-I am sinking. Nature is weak for him who feels strongly, for him whom you love!!"

(2.)

"Albenga, 16th Germinal, (April 6.) "[It is one hour after midnight. They have just brought me a letter. It is sad-my soul is affected by it: It is the death of Chauvet. He was commissaryin-chief of the army. You have seen him sometimes with Barras. My love, I feel the want of consolation that is to be obtained by writing to thee-to thee alone!-Chauvet is dead! He was attached to me. He has rendered essential services to his country. His last words were, that he was setting off to join me. Soul of my existence! write to me by every courier, otherwise I cannot live. I am here very much occupied; Beaulieu moves his army. We are in sight. I am a little fatigued; I am every day on horsebaek. Adieu, adieu, adieu. I am going to sleep. Sleep consoles me-it places me at thy side. But alas! on waking, I find myself three hundred leagues from thee!"

3.)

"Albenga, 18 Germinal, (April 8.) "My brother [Joseph] is here. He has heard of my marriage with pleasure. He is most anxious to know thee. I am trying to decide him to go to Paris. His wife has been brought to bed of a girl. He sends you a present of a box of Genoese sugar-plums. You will receive some oranges, perfumes, and orange-flower water, which I send you. Junot and Murat present you their respects."]

(4.)

"Headquarters, Carru, April 24.

"TO MY SWEET LOVE, "My brother [Joseph] will give you this letter. I have the warmest regard for him. I hope he will obtain yours. He merits it. Nature has endowed him with a character, gentle, equal, and unchangeably good. He is made up of good qualities. I have written to Barras, that he may be appointed consul in some part of Italy. He wishes to live with his little wife, far away from the great whirlwind, and from great affairs. I recommend him to thee.

"Junot carries to Paris twenty-two standards. You must return with him. Should he come without thee-misfortune without remedy, grief without consolation, endless sufferings!-My adorable love, he will see thee-he will breathe in thy temple-perhaps even thou wilt accord him the rare and invaluable favour of a kiss on thy cheek. And I-I shall be alone, and far, very far away. But thou art coming, art thou not? Take wings!-come! come! but travel gently-the road is long, bad, fatiguing. If you were to be overturned, or to be taken ill! If the fatigue ***. Go gently, my adorable love: but be often and rapidly with me in your thoughts.

"I have received a letter from Hortense. She is altogether lovely. I am going to write to her. I love her dearly, and I will soon send her the perfumes she wishes to have.

"I do not know whether you want money, for you have never spoken to me of these matters. If you do, speak to my brother, who has 200 Louis of mine. -N. B"

A Josephine

(5.)

tortone midi le 27 prarial.

Ma vie est un cochemar perpetuel un presentiment funeste m empeche de respirer. je ne vis plus j'ai perdu plus que la vie plus que le bonheur plus que le repos je suis presque sans espoir. je t expedie un courrier. il ne restera que 4 heure a paris et puis m aportera ta reponse-ecris moi 10 pages cela seul peut me consoler un peu -- tu es malade, tu m aime, je t ai affligé, tu es grosse et je te ne vois pas ! cett idée me confond. j'ai tant de tord avec toi que je ne sais comment les expier je t accuse de rester a paris et tu y etois malade-pardonne moi ma bonne amie l amour que tu m a inspiré m a ote la raison je ne la retrouverai jamais l'on ne guerit pas de ce mal la. mes presentimens sont si funestes que je me bornerois a te voir te presser 2 heures contre mon cœur et mourir ensemble! qu est ce qui a soin de toi. j' imagine que tu a fait appeller hortense j aime mille fois plus cet aimable enfant depuis que je pense qu'elle peut te consoler un peu quand a moi point de consolation point de repos, point d espoir jusqu'a ce que ai reçu le courrier que je t expedie et que par une longue lettre tu m explique ce que c est que maladie et jusqu'a quel point elle doit etre serieuse si elle est dangereuse, je t en previens je pars de suite pour paris. mon arrivé vaudra ta maladie. J'ai ete toujours heureux. jamais mon sort n a resiste a ma volonte et aujourdhui je suis frappe dans ce qui me touche uniquement. Josephine comment peut tu rester tant de tems sans m ecrire-ta derniere lettre laconique est du 3 du mois encore est elle affligante pour moi je 1 ai cependant toujours dans ma poche-ton portrait et tes lettres sont sans cesse devant mes yeux.

je ne suis rien sans toi je concois a peine comment j ai existe sans te connoitre ah! Josephine si tu eusse connu mon cœur serois tu rester depuis le 29 au 16 pour partir? aurois tu prete 1 oreil a des amis perfides qui vouloient peutetre te tenir eloignée de moi? je l avoue* tout le monde, j en veux a tout ce qui t entourre je te calculois partie depuis le 5 et le 15 arrivé a Milan.

josephine si tu m'aime si tu crois que tout depend de ta conservation, ménage toi, je n ose pas te dire de ne pas entreprendre un voyage si long et dans les chaleurs a moins si tu es dans le cas de fair la route va a petites journées ecris moi a toutes les couchés et expedie moi d avance tes lettres.

toutes mes pensées sont concentrées dans ton alcove dans ton lit sur ton cœur ta maladie voyla ce qui m occupe la nuit et le jour-sans apetit, sans someil, sans interet pour l amitie, pour la gloire, pour la patrie, toi, toi et le reste du monde n existe pas plus pour moi que s il etoit anneanti je tiens al honneur puisque tu y tiens, a la victoire puisque cela te fait plaisir sans quoi j aurois tout quitte pour me rendre a tes pieds.

quelquefois je me dis je m allarme sans raisou deja elle est guerie elle part elle est partie, elle est peutetre deja a lion-vaine imagination-tu es dans ton lit souffrante, plus belle, plus interessante plus adorable tu es palle et tes yeux sont plus languissans mais quand sera tu guerie? si un de nous deux devoit etre malade ne doit il pas etre moi, plus robuste et plus courageux jeusse suporte la maladie plus facilement la destinée est cruelle elle me frappe dans toi. ce qui me console quelque fois c est de penser qu il depend du sort de te rende malade mais qu il ne depend de personne de m obliger a te survivre. dans ta lettre ma bonne amíe aie soin de me dire que tu est convaincue que je t aime au dela de ce qu il est possible d imaginer, que tu es persuade que tous mes instans te sont consacrés que jamais il ne se passe une heure sans penser à toi, que jamais il ne m est venu dans 1 idée de penser a une autre femme qu elles sont toutes a mes yeux sans grace sans beauté et sans esprit que toi toi toute entière telle que je te vois telle que tu est pouvoit me plaire et absorber toutes les facultes de mon ame que tu en a touché toute l'etendue que mon cœur n a point de replis que tu ne voye, point de pensées qui ne te sont subordonnes, que mes forces mes bras mon esprit sont tout a toi, que mon ame est dans ton corps, et que le jour ou tu aurois change ou ou tu cesserois de vivre seroit celui de ma mort, que la nature, la terre n est belle a mes yeux que parceque tu 1 habite - si tu ne crois pas tout cela si ton ame n'en est pas convaincue penetree, tu m afflige, tu ne m aime pas il est un fluide magnetique entre les personnes qui s aiment tu sais bien que jamais je ne pourrois te voir un amant encore moins t en offrir un, lui dechirois le cœur et le voir seroit pour moi la meme chose et puis si je † porter la main sur ta personne sacrée - non je ne l'oserai jamais mais je sorterois d une vie ou ce qui existe de plus vertueuse m auroit trompé.

t

Mais je suis sur et fier de ton amour - les malheurs sont des epreuves qui nous decellent mutuelment toute la force de notre passion un enfant adorable comme la maman va voir le jour et pourroit passer plusieurs ans dans tes bras - infortuné! je me contenterois d une journée - Mille baise sur tes yeux, sur tes levres sur ta langue sur ton cœur-adorable femme quelle est ton ascendant je suis bien malade de ta maladie, j ai encore une fiévre brulante! ne garde pas plus de 6 heure le Simple* et qu il retourne de suite me porter la lettre cherie de ma Souveraine.

te souviens tu de ce reve ou j etois tes souliers tes chiffons et je te faisois entrer toute entière dans mon cœur--pourquoi la nature n a-t-elle pas arrange cela comme cela-il y a bien des choses a faire.

N. B.

(6.)

A Josephine,

de Pistoa en toscane le 8 messidor.

Depuis un mois je n'ai reçu de ma bonne amie que 2 billets de trois lignes chacun-a-t-elle des affaires? celle d'écrire a son bon ami n'est donc pas un besoin pour elle des lors celle d'y penser-vivre sans penser a josephine ce seroit pour ton mari etre mort et ne pas exister-ton image embelit ma pensée et egaye le tableau sinistre et noire de la melancolie et de la douleur- un jour peutetre viendra ou je te verai, car je ne doute pas que tu ne sois encore a paris et bien ce jour la je te montrerai mes poches pleines de lettres que je ne t'ai pas envoyé par qu'elles etoient trop bete, bien c'est le mot. bon dieu dis mois toi qui sais si bien faire aimer les autres sans aimer saurez tu me guerir de l'amour??? je pairai ce remede bien chère tu devois partir le 5 prairal— bon que j'etois je tendois le 13 comme si une jolie femme pouvoit abandoner ses habitudes, ses amis, et Me. tallien et un diné chez baras, et une representation d'une piece nouvelle et fontane* oui fontane* tu aime tout plus que ton mari tu n'a pour lui qu'un peu d'estime et une portion de cette bienveillance dont ton cœur abonde tous les jours † † recapituler tes tord, tes fautes je me bat le flanc pour ne te plus aimer bah n' est* ce* pas que je taime davantage enfin mon incomparable petite mere je vais te dire mon secret. Mocque toi de moi reste a Paris, aie des amans, que tout le monde le sache, n ecris jamais eh! bien je t en aimerai 10 fois davantage-et ce n est pas folie fiévre delire!! et je ne guerirai pas de cela-oh si par dieu j'en guerirai-mais ne vas pas me dire que tu es malade-n entrepend pas de te justifie bon dieu tu es pardonnée

je t aime a la folie et jamais mon pauvre cœur ne cessera de donner tout* a* *amour* si tu ne m aimois pas mon sort seroit bien byzare. tu ne m'a pas ecrit -tu etois malade - tu n es pas venue. tt n'a pas voulu et puis ta maladie et puis ce petit enfant qui se remuoit si fort qu il te faisoit mal? mais tu as passe lion tu seras le 10 a turin le 12 a milan ou tu m atendira. tu seras en italie et je serois encore loin de toi-adieu, ma bien aimé, un baisé sur ta bouche-un autre sur ton cœur et un autre sur ton petit enfants.

Nous avons fait la paix avec Rome qui nous donne de l'argent-nous serons demain a livourne et le plutot que je pourrois dans tes bras, a tes pieds, sur ton sein.

A la Citoyenne

Bonaparte,

Rue chautreinne No. 6

Paris.

No. V.

DESCENT OF THE FRENCH IN SOUTH WALES, UNDER GENERAL TATE.

[See p. 199.]

We have found some curious particulars respecting Tate's descent in the Memoirs of Theobald Wolfe Tone, one of the unfortunate and misguided Irish gentlemen who were engaged in the Rebellion 1796, and who, being taken on his return to Ireland with a French expedition, was condemned and executed there. The author, for whom we entertain much compassion, seems to have been a gallant light-hearted Irishman, his head full of scraps of plays, and his heart in a high fever on account of the supposed wrongs which his country had sustained at the hands of Great Britain. His hatred, indeed, had arisen to a pitch which seems to have surprised himself, as appears from the conclusion of the following extracts, which prove that nothing less than the total destruction of Bristol was expected from Tate and his merry-men, who had been industriously picked out as the greatest reprobates of the French army.

We have that sort of opinion of Citizen Wolfe Tone, which leads us to think he would have wept heartily had he been to witness the havoc of which he seems ambitious to be an instrument. The violence of his expressions only shows how civil war and political fury can deform and warp the moral feelings. But we should have liked to have seen Pat's countenance when he learned that the Bande Noire had laid down their arms to a handful of Welsh militia, backed by the appearance of a body of market women, with red cloaks, (such was the fact,) whom they took for the head of a supporting column. Even these attempts at pillage, in which they were supposed so dexterous, were foiled by the exertions of the sons of Owen Glendower. The only blood spilt was that of a French straggler, surprised by a Welsh farmer in the act of storming his hen-roost. The bold Briton knocked the assailant on the head with his flail, and, not knowing whom he had slain, buried him in the dunghill, until he learned by the report of the country that he had slain a French invader, when he was much astonished and delighted with his own valour. Such was the event of the invasion; Mr. Tone will tell us what was expected.

Nov. 1st and 2d, 1796, (Brest.) Colonel Shee tells me that General Quantin has been dispatched from Flushing with 2000 of the greatest reprobates in the French army, to land in England, and do as much mischief as possible, and that we have 3000 of the same stamp, whom we are also to disgorge on the English coast.

Nov. 24th and 25th.

Colonel Tate, an American officer, has offered his services, and the general has given him the rank of chef-de-brigade, and 1050 men of the Legion Noire, in order to go on a bucaneering party into England. Excepting some little errors in the locality, which, after all, may seem errors to me from my own ignorance, the instructions are incomparably well drawn; they are done, or at least corrected, by the general himself; and if Tate be a dashing fellow, with military talents, he may play the devil in England before he is caught. His object is Liverpool; and I have some reason to think the scheme has resulted