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flesh and even to represent it as the main cause of the Emperor's decline and fall, is in reality a belated recognition of the political value of certain-if we will have it so-sentimental ideas which it never occurred to the Englishman to question. Here, however, we are in danger of becoming involved in issues altogether beyond the purpose of these pages.

So much, then, of the respective attitude of the two men towards women and towards their country. How was it with them in regard to religion? Herr Ludwig does little to straighten out the tangled skein in which the thoughts of Napoleon about God and destiny lie enmeshed. He gives illustrations of some definitely materialistic utterances and some equally definite theistic ones, and observes rather ineptly that 'Napoleon's ideas as to the nature of the creation developed, and just as the revolutionist became a legitimist, so the materialist became a theist.' Even if a sequence of dates supported this singular sequence of ideas, which it does not, one would have to object that, in the awful boredom of St Helena the Emperor obviously found recreation in exploring dogma after the manner of a scholastic from the negative end, not less than in rousing the more or less orthodox Gourgaud by attacks upon Christianity. There are in truth other authorities besides Herr Ludwig who need to be consulted if we are anxious to arrive at an idea of Napoleon's real attitude towards religion. Talleyrand, than whom no man had marked the Emperor's footsteps more closely, replied to a question of Henry Greville's on the point: Je suis porté à croire qu'il était croyant,' and added the observation-fully borne out by the contents of the theological library that fell into the hands of Louis XVIII-that 'il avait le goût de ces sujets.' And Masson, who devotes a chapter to the question, Napoléon était-il croyant?' reaches the conclusion, after scrutinising his behaviour in regard to marriage and divorce, that he was indeed always 'croyant,' though not 'pratiquant,' and in the end 'pratiquant' as well as croyant.' His desire, rendered unsuccessful though it was owing to Josephine's importunities and the Pope's intervention, to avoid the religious ceremony of marriage himself in the case of a wife whom he was aware that he might wish to get rid of, and his equally

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marked desire to impose it on his family, show a regard for the sacramental view of that institution inconsistent with pure scepticism, as is also his steady refusal to receive Holy Communion on occasions when it would have been appropriate. But, apart from such inferences and from the evidence which convinces Masson, though not apparently Herr Ludwig, that he received the last Sacraments, there is his confession of faith, with its unusual and therefore presumably considered wording: 'Je meurs dans la religion apostolique et romaine dans laquelle je suis né.' He might have said, as it would have been usual to do in his place, dans laquelle j'ai vécu'; and it is significant that he did not. Important as religion evidently seemed to one who affirmed as he did that 'a society without religion was as a vessel without compass,' he had in fact himself conducted the business of life under secular sanctions. Of these we must speak in conclusion. But Wellington's cast of faith has first to be considered.

The Duke's creed was simple enough, and of its hold upon him these last letters of his give proof enough. Such quotations as the following tell us as much as we are likely to know-perhaps as much as there is to be known-about the matter:

'I was nearly alone at Church on Sunday, and was very near going to the Communion Table for the Communion Service. I could not hear one word! to make the Responses ! and, there being nobody else, I had acted as clerk throughout the service.' Again, 'I went to Morning Prayers as usual and by the same road. I do not think I ever felt the weather so severely at this time of year.'

He walked in fact with reverence and humility along the beaten track in which he found himself and would, I should guess from some characteristic references in this volume to a certain scion of the House of Spencer who became a priest, have regarded religious adventures much as, in those prosaic ages, he apparently regarded the sport of mountaineering. My father-to digress for a moment-used, from out of his long personal recollections, to tell a story which illustrates the Duke's attitude towards the then novel enthusiasm for climbing the Alps. One of the Sackville-Wests-a brother of

Lady Salisbury's-had arrived one evening at Hatfield with a friend after accomplishing the ascent of Mont Blanc. The Duke was told there were new lions about, and was invited to associate himself with the lionworshippers. Accordingly he addressed to the young men some allusion to their exploit and followed it up with the practical inquiry, perhaps a little contemptuously delivered, 'Well, and what did you see when you got there?' The question pierced to the very joints and marrow, for the Alpinists had to confess that there had been a thick fog at the top of the mountain and that they had consequently seen nothing at all.

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That is not necessarily the fate of religious adventures, and Mr Spencer calling himself Ignatius' was apparently so bold as to believe that if only he could but tempt the Duke on to the road to Rome he would be able to bring him to the summit of the Seven Hills. Wellington, however, was too old a soldier to leave his lines. The object of Mr Spencer's attentions, so he told Lady Salisbury, was 'to draw me into a religious discussion, which,' he added, 'I shall know how to avoid.' His reply is, so far as I know, not extant, but, 'very comical' though he declares it to have been, it can scarcely have rivalled the felicity of his son's answer to the zealous convert who wrote to that amusing man to say that, knowing as she did his largeness of heart, she had taken the liberty of putting down his name as the subscriber of 51. towards a church in the building of which she was interested. He-the second Dukereplied more or less as follows: 'Madam, you have not underrated either my generosity or my tolerance; neither I hope do I underrate yours. As soon as I got your letter I proceeded to put your name down also as the subscriber of 5l. towards the erection of a church that I am concerned with. No money therefore need pass between us.'

Catholic and Protestant alike will perhaps forgive me this digression, of which a journal that, as readers of 'Mansfield Park' may remember, was once harnessed by Miss Austen with 'sofas and chit-chat,' may still suffer the inclusion. But my article must hasten not the less swiftly to its close. What in a word-for this was our final basis of comparison-was the Emperor's

driving motive and what the Duke's? The answers are hardly contentious. In the one case fame; in the other duty. Herr Ludwig makes the interesting remark that the desire of Napoleon's heart' would seem to have been rather the Latin "gloria," which thinks of future generations, than the French "gloire," which suns itself in the smile of contemporaries.' And Béranger, too, evidently felt it was rather posterity than his contemporaries that Napoleon must look to for his reward and from whom he would receive it.

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In such pleasing and plaintive numbers does the Frenchman celebrate his hero; and something of his spirit has during the passage of a century floated across the Channel and is to be met with in the cadences of Lord Rosebery's exquisite description of the last phase at St Helena as well as in the whole attitude towards Napoleon of a younger generation. Yet, as the Great Duke's body passed to its last resting-place in the November of 1852, an English poet had restated the rôles of the chief combatants at Waterloo in terms with which true history has no quarrel.

'Again their ravening eagle rose

In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,
And barking for the thrones of kings;
Till one that sought but Duty's iron crown

On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down.'

Duty, not glory, was indeed the word that sprang to the lips at thought of him who won at Waterloo. Even

Disraeli, who loved all that was ornate and meretricious, dared use no other.

'Thy calm mien

Recalls old Rome, as much as thy high deed;
Duty thine only idol, and serene

When all are troubled; in the utmost need
Prescient; thy country's servant ever seen,

Yet sovereign of thyself whate'er may speed.'

In plain English, Napoleon's energy was fired by the thought of wearing the crown of the Cæsars-Roman if not Byzantine-Wellington's by the idea of carrying on the affairs of life, and especially those of the king's government, with exact propriety.' It would be an insult to human intelligence to discuss which motive deserves the higher praise or the closer study.

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A final word of thanks is owing to our authors before we take leave of them. They have executed their tasks as well, or almost as well, as is possible. Herr Ludwig's study of Napoleon is from an artistic point of view actually superior to his much-discussed study of William II; the matter better grouped, the central figure more finely chiselled, and the translation, if we come to take that also into account, more skilfully managed. And Lady Burghclere, for her part, has added some fresh leaves to the laurels which she has already gained by her larger contributions to historical study. By the simultaneous appearance in England of these books the British Public enjoys a new opportunity of regarding the two greatest soldiers of the last century, so to say, in mufti. It was a dress that, as it happened, Wellington preferred, but which was seldom, if ever, seen upon Napoleon. This difference in their practice was fully justified by the difference of their characters. For the portrait of the one gains no added charm from a uniform and that of the other loses all charm whatever without it.

ALGERNON CECIL.

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