*

any authority, which is indeed an objection that can be urged against most, or all of those new historical facts he adduces n his dramatic history. In the second place, it is improbable, and at variance both with the character of Danton and Philippe Egalité. The supposition that Danton should have had the weakness to imagine he could place the Duke of Orleans upon the throne, is even less absurd than to suppose the Duke would have had the virtue to decline the proffered crown. A more loathsome, revolting, despicable character, it is difficult to find in history, than Philippe of Orleans. Lamartine seems to excuse and palliate his connexion with the Revolution, and to look upon his vices, his mean and disgraceful intrigues, and his heaven-daring wickedness, with the complaisance and respect due the then reigning dynasty. It was the father of Louis Philippe, whose republican virtue withstood Danton's offer of a crown, not that social outlaw, the Jacobin Prince, who voted the death of his near kinsman, Louis XVI. Perhaps Danton may have meditated the restoration of the monarchy as the means of averting the excesses of the Republic, but certainly Philippe Egalité never, unless like Cæsar, refused the crown.

The charges against Danton, therefore, if not wholly false, were distorted and unjust. His real crime, if his enemies call it such, was moderatism, not treason. He undoubtedly contemplated a modification of the government, but not to betray the Republic or the popular cause. What was the exact form of government he desired is unknown; perhaps, as Lamartine suggests, a limited monarchy, with a king, chosen by the people, at its head; or such a constitutional monarchy as Lafay ette had advocated, surrounded with republican institutions; but more probably a consolidated republic, with an energetic executive, and a government that should have been able at once to enforce order, to suppress lawless violence, and to maintain liberty. Danton died for endeavoring to moderate the Revolution, and for refusing to follow it in its excesses; for this the Girondins had died before him; for this the heads of a thousand Frenchmen rolled from the scaffold in the Place de la Revolution!

The prisoners were executed on the 16th Germinal (April 5th, 1794,) amid a vast concourse of spectators, who, satiated with the scene of an ordinary execution, now thronged the guillotine with eager curiosity to see how this Danton would die.

We must here again refer to the paper of Mr. Nicholas Hentz, who, in his mention of Danton's death, seems to indulge in something like the bitterness of a personal spite and enmity against the great rival and victim of Robespierre. He says that Danton went to his death like a coward, pale and trembling; and that his companion, Camille Desmoulins, exhibited the most heroic firmness. This extraordinary statement is wholly destitute of truth, if any reliance can be placed upon the concurring testimony of every other contemporary, or upon general history. Danton never appeared with a more composed countenance or haughty mien, than when on his way to the guillotine. His brow was without a cloud, his arms folded, his eye calmly serene, surveying with indifference the crowd. Poor Camille, dragged down

One of the most curious of these is Danton's prediction to Louis Philippe, related for the first by this author. "France will become a monarchy and you will be king. Remember the prediction of Danton!" So singular a prediction is surely worthy of passing reference to the authority upon which it is stated.

by the relentless hand of the same destiny, exhibited less firmness, and in the accents of despair attempted to address the people. Danton quieted him as he would the frantic passion of a child: "Be still, my friend-take no notice of this vile rabble." At the foot of the guillotine a momentary emotion passed over the countenance of Danton-not of weakness or fear, but an emotion prompted by the better impulses of his nature: "Oh, my best beloved one," he was heard to murmur, "my wife, I shall never see thee again!"-then checking himself, he added, as though in self-reproach: "Danton! no weakness!" With a firm, proud step, he ascended the scaffold. "Show my head to the people," said he to the executioner, "it will be a sight well worth seeing." The blade of the guillotine fell, and Danton's head rolled into the basket. Camille recovered his composure at the last moment; he and his companions, Herault, Sechelles, Lacroix, Philipeaux, and Westerman, met their fate with the same unshrinking firmness.

Such was the end of this formidable revolutionist.* He died in the thirty-fifth year of his age, in the prime of vigorous manhood. We regard his character as one of the most striking of the age in which he lived. There is a broadness, a depth, an individuality in it—a greatness of evil as well as of good-which stamps it as the legitimate creation of the Revolution. His intellect, his passions, his vices, his comprehension, his actions-all were great. They stood out prominent as the rugged outlines of his features-massive as the stalwart proportions of his frame-in striking contrast with the common mass of mankind around him. He seemed made by and for the revolution-made to engraft the thoughts and passions of his own mind upon it-to stamp the impress of his own character upon the nation, and in the midst of that grand, social convulsion, to shape the destinies of empire. Danton was a democrat from conviction and by instinct. In this he acted no part. He sprang from the masses. If the Revolution had had an articulate voice, he would have been its organ of speech; he was the very incarnation of the Revolution-the child of the people, the type of that fierce and uncontrollable democracy which sprang into life, fully armed, from feudal slavery-reflecting by turns all the levity, the ferocity, the energy, the love of country, the generosity, the wild enthusiasm, the determined will, the stern courage of that populace which raised him aloft to his place of eminence and power. We shall not now attempt to scan his private morality; he had many and glaring vices. Nor can his public life, or his character as a statesman, bear the test of an examination, for a moment, by the side of those whom the world by common consent regards as models of true statesman

We cannot refrain from quoting the following fine passage from Carlyle, who, of all the English writers, seems to have most clearly understood and correctly appre ciated Danton, as a revolutionist and a statesman. In a few sentences, in his unique and idiomatic style of expression, he sums up Danton's character thus: "So passes -like a gigantic mass of valor, ostentation, fury, affection and wild revolutionary force and manhood-this Danton, to his unknown home. He was of Arcis-sur-Aube; born of good farmer people there. He had many sins; but one worse sin he had not -that of cant. No hollow formalist, deceptive, and self-deceptive, ghastly to the natural sense, was this; but a very man; with all his dross he was a man; fiery-real, from the great fire-bosom of nature herself. He saved France from Brunswick; he walked straight his own wild road whither it led him. He may live for some generations in the memory of man."

ship. But impartial history should never shrink from doing even Danton the justice to record, that with all his vices and defects he possessed many of the attributes of greatness-and of a heroic, a generous, and a

noble nature.

We are aware that in some of these views we are running counter to many of the cherished and venerable prejudices of the age. Truth, however, is never to be found until the rubbish of prejudice is cleared away, and this often requires the labor of years. The name of Cromwell was execrated by mankind for many years after his death, as Danton's has been; but posterity is beginning to be just to the memory of the Great Protector, and to vindicate it from the false aspersions which calumny and malice have cast upon it. We do not say that the time will ever come when Danton's name can be vindicated; but the time has come, and now is, when men may venture, even in his own country, to do justice to the public character of the man who saved the first French Republic.

VERSES ON THE DAY OF WATERLOO.

FROM THE FRENCH OF BERANGER,

OLD soldiers tell me, "We may thank thy Muse,
That now the People popular songs can sing:
Laugh thou at laurels faction may refuse;

To our exploits again thy numbers string.
Sing of that day, which traitors dared invoke,
That latest day of ruin, though of fame."
I said, my moist eyes drooping as 1 spoke,
"Ne'er shall my verse be saddened by that name."
In Athens, who of Cheronea's day

Would sing, the whilst his tuneful lyre he swept?
Doubting her gods, crest-fallen Athens lay,

And cursing Philip, o'er her fortunes wept.

On such a day our glorious empire fell;

Then, charged with chains for us, the stranger came;
Degenerate Frenchmen deigned to greet him well:
Ne'er shall my verse be saddened by that name.
"Giant of battles, he at length must fall!

Hasten, brave people," cry the despot train;
Freedom herself shall spread his funeral pall,
And saved by you, by you alone we'll reign.'
The giant sinks-the dwarfs, forgetful, swear
In slavish yoke the universe to tame;

Alas for Glory! doubly cheated there!

Ne'er shall my verse be saddened by that name.

But hold! the scions of another age

Even now the causes of my grief demand;

Why should this wreck, in truth, their thoughts engage?
Their buoyant cradles floated safe to land.

May they be happy! their ascending star

Of that disastrous day blots out the shame!

Still, were that day but some vain dream afar,

Ne'er should my verse be saddened by its name.

MINNA VON BARNHELM;

A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

FROM THE GERMAN OF G. E. LESSING.

ACT IV.-SCENE I.

SCENE-The Apartment of The FRAULEIN. The FRAULEIN, (dressed richly, but with taste.) FRANCISCA, (rising from a table, which a servant removes.)

Francisca. You cannot possibly be satisfied, gracious Fraulein? Fraulein. Do you think so, Francisca? Perhaps I did not sit down hungry.

Francisca. We have made out to avoid mentioning his name during the repast; but we should also have resolved not to think of him.

Fraulein. Truly, I have thought of nothing else.

Francisca. I noticed that I attempted to speak of a hundred things, and you answered me perversely each time. (Another servant brings in coffee.) Here comes that, over which one can better indulge in fancies. Delicious, melancholy coffee!

Fraulein. Fancies? I was indulging in none. I was thinking over the lesson which I will give him. Have you understood me aright, Francisca?

Francisca. Oh, yes; but it would be better that he should spare us this trouble.

Fraulein. You will see that I know him thoroughly. The man who now refuses me, with abundance of riches, will contend against the whole world for me, so soon as he hears that I am unfortunate and friendless. Francisca (very earnestly.) And thus must the most refined selfishness always be gratified.

Fraulein. Moralist!-But see! a little while ago, you accused me of vanity, now of selfishness. But let me alone, at present, dear Francisca ; you shall also do what you will with your sergeant.

Francisca. With my sergeant?

Fraulein. Yes, if you deny it entirely, still it is true. I have not yet seen him, but from every word you have said to me concerning him, I prophesy that he will be yours.

SCENE II. RICCANT DE LA Marliniere.

The FRAULEIN. FRANCISCA.

Riccant (still half behind the scene.) Est-il permis, Monsieur le Major?

Fraulein. What is this? Will he come in here? (Going towards the door.)

Riccant. Parbleu! I am wrong. Mais non-I am not wrong. C'est sa chambre.

Francisca. Truly, gracious Fraulein, this gentleman thinks to find here Major Von Tellheim.

Riccant. Just so! Le Major de Tellheim, juste, my belle enfant, c'est lui que je cherche. Où est-il ?

Francisca. He does not occupy this room now.

Riccant. Comment? But four and twenty hours since he vas here! And he not here now? Vare is he den?

Fraulein (coming towards him.) Sir?

Riccant. Ah, Madame, Mademoiselle. Your ladyship's pardon ! Fraulein. Sir, your mistake is very excusable, and your surprise very natural. Major Tellheim has had the kindness to give up his apartment to me, as I was a stranger and knew not where to gain admittance.

Riccant. Ah, voilà de ses politesses! C'est un très-galant homme que ce Major!

Fraulein. Where he has gone, in the meantime, I am sorry to confess, I do not know.

Riccant. Your ladyship not know? C'est dommage; j'en suis faché.

Fraulein. I ought, by all means, to have inquired concerning this.Of course, his friends would seek for him here.

Riccant. I am very much his friend, your ladyship.

Fraulein. Francisca, do you not know—

Francisca. No, gracious Fraulein.

Riccant. I have great necessity to speak to him. I come to bring him a nouvelle, at which he vill be very glad.

Fraulein. I regret it so much the more. Still, I hope to speak with him shortly. If it will make no difference from whom he receives the good news, then I would communicate it to him myself, sir.

Riccant. I understand. Mademoiselle parle Français ? Mais sans doute; telle que je la vois !-Le demande était bien impolie; vous me pardonnerez, Mademoiselle.

Fraulein. Sir

Riccant. No? you speak no French, your ladyship?

Fraulein. Sir, if I were in France, I would endeavor to speak it. But wherefore, here? I perceive, sir, that you understand me-and I shall certainly understand you. Say whatever you please.

Riccant. Good! Good!-I can also explain in your language.— Sachez donc, Mademoiselle. Your ladyship will know, dat I come from de table of de minister. Minister von-vat is de name of de minister on de long street, in de broad place?

Fraulein. I am not at all acquainted here?

kiccant. Now, de minister of de var department. I have dined dere to-day;-I dine à l'ordinaire vid him ;-and dere Major Tellheim vas spoken of; et le ministre m'a dit en confidence, car son excellence est de mes amis, et il n'y a point de mysterès entre nous. His Excellency, I say, has confided to me, dat de affairs of de Major are at de point to end, and to end good. He have made a rapport to de king, and de king have resolved dereupon, tout-à-fait en faveur de Major. Monsieur, m'a dit Son Excellence, vous comprenez bien, que tout depend de la manière, dont on fait envisager les choses au Roi, et vous me connoissez. Cela fait un très-joli garçon que ce Tellheim, et ne sais-je pas que vous l'aimez ? Les amis de ses amis sont aussi miens. I coute un peu cher