ther's death!

Marg. To wander with you? Faust. To be free.

Marg. To death! I know it-I prepare

I come; the grave is yawning there! The grave, no farther-'tis our journey's end.

You part. Oh! could I but your steps attend.

Faust. You can! But wish it, and the deed is done.

Marg. I may not with you; hope for me is none !

How can I fly? They glare upon me still! It is so sad to beg the wide world through, And with an evil conscience too!

It is so sad to roam through stranger lands, And they will seize me with their iron

hands!

Faust. I will be with you.
Marg. Quick! fly!

Save it, or the child will die!
Through the wild wood,
To the pond!
It lifts its head!

The bubbles rise!
It breathes!

Oh save it, save it!

Faust. Reflect, reflect! One step, and thou art free!

Marg. Had we but pass'd the hillside lone

My mother there sits on a stone.
Long she has sat there, cold and dead,
Yet nodding with her weary head.
Yet winks not, nor signs, other motion is
o'er;

She slept for so long, that she wakes no

more.

Faust. Since words are vain to rouse thy sleeping sense,

If it was mine, 'twas thine as well.

Marg. Unhand me! leave me! I will

I scarce believe, though so it seemGive me thy hand-I do not dream

That dear, ar, dear hand. Alas, that spot!

pent!

Wipe it away, the purple clot!

What hast thou done? Put up thy sword; It was thy Margaret's voice implored.

Faust. Day! Margaret, day! your hour will soon be past.

Faust. Oh Margaret! let the hour be

Marg. True, 'tis the day; the lastthe last!

past;

My bridal day! _ 'twill soon appear. Tell it to none thou hast been here.

Forget it, or I breathe my last.

see

But not at the dance will our meeting be. We two shall meet

In the crowded street:

The citizens throng-the press is hot,
They talk together-I hear them not:
The bell has toll'd-the wand they break-
My arms they pinion till they ache!
They force me down upon the chair!
The neck of each spectator there
Thrills, as though itself would feel
The headsman's stroke-thesweeping steel!
And all are as dumb, with speechless pain,
As if they never would speak again!
Faust. Oh, had I never lived !
Mephistophelcs (appears in the doorway)
Off! or your life will be but short;
My coursers paw the ground, and snort!
The sun will rise, and off they bound.

Marg. Who is it rises from the ground! 'Tis he! the evil one of hell!

What would he where the holy dwell?
'Tis me he seeks !

Faust. To bid thee live.
Marg. Justice of Heaven! to thee my
soul I give !

Meph. (to Faust.)

Come! come! or tarry else with her to die. Marg. Heaven, I am thine! to thy embrace I fly!

Hover around, ye angel bands! Save me! defy him where he stands. * Henry, I shudder! 'tis for thee. Meph. She is condemn'd! Voices from above. Is pardon'd! Meph. (to Faust.) Hence, and flee! [Vanishes with Faust.

Marg. (From within.) Henry! Henry!

We notice that Lord F. Gower has given but a very mutilated version of the May-day night scene. This was wrong in every point of view. It destroys the poem of Goethe; and, if his Lordship thought, (which he probably did, and certainly might well do,) that he could not outstep Shelley in thiswhy not adopt the fragment at once? We trust this may yet be done. As it is, Lord Francis has produced a work which must at once give him a place, and no mean one, among the literary men of his time. He must prepare himself for encountering something of

that vulgar and petulant sneering, with which the gentlemen of the press are ever ready to insult the first appearance of a gentleman still more of a nobleman. But all this will be of no avail. He has a right to be tried by his literary peers, and from their decision he has no reason to shrink. Mr Coleridge himself will not now dream of translating the Faust another hand has done almost all that could be done even by him; and the English public may congratulate themselves upon the possession of one more work worthy to be associated with Coleridge's Wallenstein-worthy of being placed above even the best of Mr Gillies's translations from the German theatre-and worthy of being placed above them for this one plain, simple reason-that Goethe is what Müller, Grillparzer, and Oehlenshlaeger aspire to be-and may perhaps be ere they die; but certainly have not as yet shewn themselves to be. We hope this splendid example will not be lost upon Mr Gillies. We earnestly hope he will turn seriously to the true masterpieces of German genius, and not meddle with the pupils, however meritorious, until their great, and we half fear, inimitable masters have been exhausted. Let him give us the BRIDE OF MESSINA-or the WILLIAM TELLor the EGMONT, and take his place where he is entitled to be.

Most of our readers must have seen the print of Gérard's picture of the battle of Austerlitz-indeed it is on many a snuff-box. They may remember the cavalry officer, who, with his hat off, and sabre broken, is galloping up to Napoleon, who receives him, surrounded by his suite. This is no other than the author of the autobiographical volume now before us, the General Rapp himself. He was returning from the decisive charge which he had led in person, and which decided the day. "My sabre half broken," says he, "my wound, the blood with which I was covered, the decisive advantage gained over the choice of the

enemies' troops, inspired the Emperor at the moment with the idea of the picture, afterwards executed by Gérard."

Rapp was a native of Alsace; he early distinguished himself under Desaix, and was taken notice of by that talented general. He soon rose to favour under Napoleon, whose esteem at times, and whose suspicion and displeasure, at others, he won by a military frankness and bluntness of speech. Whenever any of Rapp's friends fell into disgrace with Napoleon, the blunt Alsacian was sure to shew it by some expression of spleen or ill-timed expostulations. And he thus became

generally implicated in the misfortunes of Regnier, Bernadotte, and subsequently of Josephine. But his gallantry at Austerlitz and Essling, with twenty and odd wounds, out-balanced his want of flexibility with Napoleon. Ney and Rapp were the only generals, said Napoleon, that preserved the

hearts of stout soldiers in the retreat

from Moscow. Rapp certainly paid his court at the Tuilleries in 1814, and in 1815 commanded the army of

the Rhine for his old master. We shall see, whether the curious interview, in which Napoleon won him over, can excuse the desertion. He became afterwards chamberlain, or some such officer about Louis the Eighteenth's person, and was on duty at St Cloud the very day that the news of Napoleon's death arrived in Paris; the veteran, summoned suddenly before the King, made his appearance in undissembled tears:-" Go, Rapp," said the Monarch, " I honour you for this tribute to your old master."

These memoirs, seemingly excited by the ultra calumnies against the ExEmperor, which they commence with answering, are sketched by the bold and hurried hand of an old soldier. He represents Napoleon as mild, tender, and scarcely ever inexorable in matters of life and death. He relates many instances of successful interference in such cases, but allows that he was often driven into excesses by the servile adulations of the court. He represents him as open to advice, even to remonstrance, though intolerant of the common-place arguments, which his relations especially sometimes pestered him with.

"Fesch was about to remonstrate with him one day on the war in Spain. He had not uttered two words, when Napoleon, drawing towards the window, asked, Do you see that star?' - It was broad day.. 'No,' replied the archbishop. Well, as long as I alone can perceive it, I follow my plan, and suffer no observations.”

The following anecdote, though nothing in itself, may account for the contradictions and contrary reports about the Emperor's apathy of feeling, on which point the author of Child Harold, and the Quarterly Review, are at issue :

"On his return from the Russian campaign, he was deploring with deep emotion, the death of so many gallant soldiers, mowed down, not by the Cossacks, but by cold and hunger. A courtier seeking to put in his word, added, with a pitiful tone - We have indeed suffered a great loss.'

- Yes,' rejoined Napoleon, Madam Barilli, the singer, is dead."

He

e mystified indiscretion, says Rapp, but repulsed neither pleasantry nor frankness.

After some chapters devoted to the character of Napoleon, and to anecdotes concerning him, the Memoirs proceed with the "Third War of Austria," when, all hopes of invading our island being at an end, the French succeeded in shutting up Mack with the remains of his army in Ulm. Segur's account of the surrender is exceedingly interesting; the getting possession of the bridge over the Danube at Vienna is one of the best morceaus

of Rapp's books, and shews how effectually Buonaparte was seconded by the dexterity and courage of his generals:

"We were marching on the traces of the enemy's rear-guard. It would have been easy for us to have routed it, but we knew better. The object was to deceive them into an abatement of vigilance: we never pushed them, but, on the contrary, spread about reports of approaching peace. We permitted troops and baggage to escape; a few men were of little importance in comparison with the preservation of the bridges. Once broken, we would have had the whole campaign to fight over again. Austria was assembling fresh forces, Prussia was throwing off the mask; and Russia presented herself prepared for action with all the resources of these two powers. The possession of the bridges was a victory, and one only to be obtained by surprise. We took our measures in consequence. The troops stationed on the route were forbidden to give the least demonstration that might create alarm; no one was permitted to enter Vienna. When everything had been seen, and examined, the Grand Duke took possession of that capital, charging Lannes and Bertrand to make a strong reconnoissance on the river. These two officers were followed by the Tenth Hussars. They found at the gates of the Faubourg a post of Austrian cavalry. There had been no fighting for three days; there was a kind of suspension of arms on both sides. Lannes and Bertrand address the commandant, enter into conversation with him, attach themselves to his steps, nor trains were laid, the cannoneers held the matches the least appearance of endeavouring to pass by force had ruined the enterprize. It was necessary to trick them, and the bonhommie of the Austrians gave us the means. The two marshals alighted, halted the column, and ordered but a very small detachment to advance and establish themselves on the bridge. General Belliard then advanced, walking with his hands behind his back, accompanied by two officers of his staff. Lannes joined him with others; they went, and came, talked, and even ventured into the middle of the Austrians. The commander of the post at first refused to receive them, but he yielded at last, and conversation was established between them. They repeated to him what Bertrand had already said, that the negotiations advanced, that the war was finished. Why,' said the Marshal, hold your cannons pointed against us? Haven't we had enough of blood, of combats? Do you wish to attack us, to prolong the evils of war, severer for you than for us. Come, no more provocation; turn your pieces.' Half convinced, half overborne, the commandant obeyed, the artillery was turned on the Austrians, and the arms piled up.

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"During these arguments, the small body of the vanguard advanced slowly, masking sappers and artillerymen, who threw the combustible matters into the stream, poured water on the powder, and cut the trains. The Austrian, too ignorant of our language to take much interest in the conversation, soon perceived that the troops gained ground, and endeavoured to make us comprehend that this was wrong, that he would not suffer it. Lannes and Belliard tried to reassure him; they told him, it was but the cold that made the soldiers mark step, in order to warm their feet. The column, however, still approached, it had passed three-fourths of the bridge the officer lost patience, and ordered his troops to fire. The troop ran to arms the pieces were pointed-the position was terrible; with a little less presence of mind, the bridge was in the air, our soldiers in the waves, and the whole campaign compromised. But the Austrian had to do with men not so easily disconcerted. Marshal Lannes took hold of him on one side, General Belliard seized him on the other; they shake him, menace, shout, prevented his being heard. In the meantime Prince d'Aversperg arrives, accompanied by General Bertrand. An officer runs to acquaint Murat with the state of things, and to pass the order to the troops to hasten their step. The Marshal advances to Aver sperg, complains of the commander of the post, demands that he be replaced, and sent off from the rear-guard, where he might trouble the negotiations. Aversperg is deceived. He argues, approves, contradicts,

and loses time in a vain discussion. Our troops profit by the time, they arrive, expand, and the bridge is ours," &c.

The Memoirs sketch livelily and rapidly the victories of Austerlitz and Jena, and livelily describe the disgust of the French soldier in Poland:

"Quatre mots constituaient, pour eux, tout l'idiome Polonais: Kleba? Niema; VOTA? SARA: - Bread? There's none. Water? You shall have it. C'ètait là toute la Pologne."

The dislike and horror of the French at passing the Vistula, amounted, indeed, almost to a presentiment, a prophetic feeling of their sufferings in Russia. Meantime, peace was concluded at Tilsit. Napoleon went to Spain, but was soon compelled to return by the wavering faith of the North. But the fame of Wellington's victories soon followed him-the Invincibles retreated-were mowed down by our forces and English example wrought as much against Napoleon in the North, as their arms in the South.

"The reports, the disasters of Baylen gave Napoleon fresh doubts on the conduct of Prussia. He charged me to redouble my vigilance. Spare nothing to the Prussians,' he wrote me, they must not raise their heads more.'

"The news of the ill success which we met with in the Peninsula, spread itself immediately over Germany: they awakened new hopes, every breast was in fermentation. I forwarded accounts to Napoleon: but he did not like to be reminded of unpleasant occurrences, much less when they foretold a more disastrous future. The Germans are not Spaniards, replied he; • the phlegmatic character of the German has nothing in common with that of the ferocious Catalonians."

In opposition to the opinion of all his counsellors, military or civilian, Buonaparte entered Russia. We all know the consequences. Rapp received four wounds in the battle of the Moskwa, and lay sick when the flames of Moscow began; five or six times he dislodged to escape the flames. He gives a lively picture of the scene.The noise, the hurry, the conflagration, the sane even affrighted, and the litters of the wounded generals meeting here and there, as they were dragged in search of a secure spot. Rapp, however, survived, and in the retreat was dispatched by Napoleon to take the command of Dantzic. Here he supported a long siege, but at length surrendered, and was carried prisoner into Russia. He returned to the Tuilleries in 1814, and found, as he says, that the enemy had invaded everything. He meets many of his subalterns in favour, who regard the veteran de haut en bas. Of one of these gentry, he gives an anecdote, curiously descriptive of French life:

"J'en rencontrais un troisième, que ma presence ne mit pas à l'aise. Attaché autrefois à Joséphine, il avait fait preuve d'une prévoyance véritablement exquise: afin d'être en mesure contre les cas imprévus qui pouvaient survenir dans les promenades et les voyages, il s'était muni d'un vase de vermeil, qu'il portait constamment sur lui. Quand la circonstance l'exigeait, il le tirait de sa poche, le présentait, le reprenait, le vidait, l'essuyait, et le serrait avec soin. C'etait avoir l'instinct de la domesticité."

"But all these preux," says Rapp, "so eager for money, decoration, and commandments, soon gave sample of their courage. Napoleon appeared, they were eclipsed. They besieged Louis XVIII., the dispenser of favours; they had not a match to burn for Louis XVIII. unfortunate."

We shall not trouble our readers with more of General Rapp, with the exception of the following dialogue, which took place between him and Napoleon. When the latter returned in 1815, he sent for Rapp, who made his appearance.

"Napoleon. There you are, General Rapp; you have been wanting. Whence came you ?

Rapp. From Ecouen, where I have left my troops at the disposition of the minister

of war.

Nap. Do you really intend fighting against me?

Rapp. Yes, sire.

Nap. The devil! Dare you draw upon me?

Rapp. Without doubt My dutyNap. 'Tis too much. But your soldiers would not have obeyed you. I tell you, the peasants of your native Alsace would have stoned you, were you guilty of such a treachery.

Rapp. Allow, sire, that the position is painful; you abdicate, you depart, you engage us to serve the King; you returnAll the force even of old remembrances cannot even deceive us

Nap. How? What would you say? Think you I return without alliance, withDut agreement ? And, besides, my system s changed no more of wars or conquests -I wish to reign in peace, and bring happiness to my subjects.

Nap. Bah! Bah! experience willbut went you often to the Tuilleries ? Rapp. Sometimes, sire. Nap. How did those folks treat you? Rapp. I could not complain.

Nap. Did the king receive you well on your return from Russia? Rapp. Certainly, sire.

Nap. Doubtless. First cajoled, then sent adrift. 'Twas what awaited you all; for, in fine, you were not their men.

Rapp. The King at least cleared France of the Allies.

Nap. At what price? And his engagements, has he kept them? Why did he not hang Ferrand for his speech on national properties? It is that it is the insolence of the priests and nobles that has made me leave Elba. I could have arrived with three millions of peasantry, who ran to offer me their services. But I was sure

of not finding resistance before Paris. The Bourbons are lucky that I have returned; without me affairs had finished by a terrible revolution. Have you seen the pamphlet of Chateaubriand, which does not even grant me courage on the field of battle? Have you ever seen me amidst the fire? Am I a coward ?

Rapp. I have partaken of the same indignation with all honourable men, at an accusation as unjust as it is base.

Nap. Saw you ever the Duke of Orleans ?

Rapp. But once.

Nap. It is he that has tact and conduct. The others are ill-surrounded, ill-counselled. They hate me. They are about to be more furious than ever. They have wherewith. I am arrived without striking a blow. It is now they'll cry out upon my ambition; it is the eternal reproach; they know nothing else to say.

Rapp. They are not alone in charging you with ambition.

Nap. How? Am I ambitious, I? Eston gros comme moi quand on a de l'ambi tion? Are men fat, like me, when they are ambitious? (and he struck his two hands with violence upon his belly.")

Beyond this argumentum ad stomachum, we cannot quote another line. It is too good, and so staggered poor Rapp, that he took the command of the army of the Rhine from Napoleon, and scarce had joined it, when the news of Waterloo and its consequences shattered his new hopes, and set his army in mutiny against him.

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