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itself. Russia leans to delay. I have no notion that Bonaparte would or could, as things yet stand, yield to the latest demand; and if peace is impracticable, we should be better rid of our plenipotentiaries."

In a note to Hamilton, Under Secretary in the Foreign Office, he refers to the whimsical circumstance of signing the treaty of the Four Powers, while playing at cards.

"I send you my treaty, of which I hope you will approve. We four ministers, when signing, happened to be sitting at a whist-table. It was agreed, that never were the stakes so high at any former party. My modesty would have prevented me from offering it; but as they chose to make us a military power, I was determined not to play a second fiddle. The fact is, that upon the face of the treaty this year, our engagement is equivalent to theirs united. We give 150,000 men, and five millions-equal to as many more-total, 300,000. . . . This, I trust, will put an end to any doubts as to the claim we have to an opinion on Continental matters."

...

The cessation of the arrangements at Chatillon was said (though it is not mentioned in these letters) to have resulted from the discovery of a new piece of perfidy on the side of Napoleon. While Caulaincourt, his envoy, was apparently acting with the full intention of peace, a letter to him from the French Emperor was intercepted, directing him to do nothing decisive until another battle was tried; but, in the mean time, to affect to negotiate. This trick put an end to all reliance on the imperial word; and the ambassadors of the four great powers resolved to leave the matter thenceforth to the decision of the sword.

It has been said, and, we believe, with truth, that on the next difficult question" Whether the allied army should follow Napoleon, or march direct on Paris," Lord Castlereagh's manly and sagacious sentiment determined on the straightforward course, and was the actual cause of that movement which gave the French capital into their hands. This crowning achievement was thus announced in a letter from his brother, March 30, 1814:

"My Lord,-After a brilliant victory, God has placed the capital of the French empire in the hands of the Allied Sovereigns-a just retribution for the miseries inflicted on Moscow, Vienna, Madrid, Berlin, and Lisbon, by the devastator of Europe.

"The enemy's army, under the command of Joseph Bonaparte, aided by Marshals Mortier and Marmont, occupied with their right the heights of Fontenay, Romainville, and Belleville; their left was on Montmartre. They had several redoubts in the centre, and, on the whole line, an artillery of 150 pieces."

After some hours of havoc, the French were driven from all their positions, and the Allies were at the barriers of Paris. A flag of truce then came forward, for permission to send a negotiator to headquarters, simply to save the city-and the result was a surrender. The loss of the troops was heavy, in consequence of their exposure to the constant cannonade of the French positions; but, in the year after, when Wellington commanded, his superior generalship, by approaching Paris on the unprotected side, achieved the seizure of the city almost without the loss of a man. An exulting and picturesque despatch from Sir Charles Stewart, communicated the entry of the Sovereigns into Paris on the day after the battle. Alexander now felt his chivalresque vision fully realised.

"I feel," said Sir Charles, "that it is impossible to convey an accurate idea of the scene that presented itself yesterday (March 31) in this capital, when the Emperor of Russia, the King of Prussia, and Prince Schwartzenberg made their entry, at the head of the allied troops. The cavalry, under his Imperial Highness the Grand-Duke Constantine, and the Guards of all the different allied forces, were formed in columns, early in the morning, on the road from Bondy to Paris. The Emperor of Russia, with all his staff, his generals, and their suites present, proceeded to Pontin, where the King of Prussia joined him, with a similar cortège. Those Sovereigns, surrounded by all the Princes in the army, together with the Prince Field - Marshal, and the Austrian Etat-Major, passed through

the Faubourg St Martin about eleven o'clock, the Cossacks of the Guard forming the advance of the march. Already was the crowd so enormous that it was difficult to move forward; but before the monarchs reached the Porte St Martin, there was, to those on the Boulevards, a moral impossibility of proceeding. All Paris seemed to be assembled and concentred in one spot. One animus, one spring, evidently directed all their movements. They thronged in such masses round the Emperor and King, that, with all their condescending and gracious familiarity, extending their hands on all sides, it was in vain to attempt to satisfy the populace."

On every side the cry arose of "Vive l'Empereur Alexandre," "Vive le Roi de Prusse," "Vivent les Rois liberateurs." Acclamations, not less loud, arose of "Vive le Roi," "Vive Louis XVIII.," "Vivent les Bourbons;" with the ominous cry, "A bas le tyran." The white cockade appeared widely. On their arrival in the Champs Elysées, the troops halted, and the work of this magnificent day was at an end.

This display was, perhaps, the most exciting sight ever witnessed. The entry of Alexander the Great into Babylon was a pageant to it; a collection of costumes and curiosities doubtless rich, varied, and strange, but in which the spectators could feel no gratification but that of the eye. The triumphs of the Roman generals, though attended with some popular pride, or some personal glory, still were little more than a long procession of plundered wealth and military grandeur. But the entry of the Sovereigns into Paris had something in it more than the indulgence of the eye, or even the vanity of soldiership. Divested of the various pomp of the ancient triumph, it had a moral sense, a grandeur to the mind, an impression engendered by great struggles, long aspirations, and their glorious fulfilment, that could never have mingled with the barbaric splendours of Asia, or the stern supremacy of Rome. That triumph was a consummation-a fulfilment of hopes, and a tranquillisation of fear, that had for many an anxious year fevered every heart in Europe. It was the working

out of the great principle of resistance to wrong; the restoration of rights to a fourth part of human kind; the promise of a peace, which, with but one slight burst of war (the last thunder-roll of the tempest), was to continue for the generation, and still continues; or, to give its truest character, it was a vindication of that mighty and merciful Providence, which having given to man the sense of freedom, has given to his heart and arm the power of its recovery.

The Foreign Secretary had judged rightly of the character of the Russian Emperor. Though manly and meritorious, brave in the field, and faithful in the council, Alexander was romantic. The age of single combats was gone by, and he could not distinguish himself in the field; but he seemed to resolve on being distinguished for a clemency and generosity to his fallen antagonist, which hazarded the peace of the world.

The Treaty of Fontainebleau was the result of this romantic temper, and Alexander gave the craftiest, the most ambitious, the most selfish, and the most faithless of human beings, a title, which could only remind him of his fallen sovereignty; a possession which placed him midway between the partisanship of Italy and of France; and a revenue, at once too small to gratify his avarice, and sufficient for the purchase of all the lingering revenge and hungry conspiracy of France.

This treaty Lord Castlereagh refused to sign, though strongly urged by Alexander. But afterwards, when Bonaparte was sent to Elba, when the Treaty of Fontainebleau had become Continental law, and when it was a part of his duty to recognise the act of the Allies, he acquiesced in the Treaty of Paris.

On his return to England in 1815, and on his first appearance in the Commons, the whole House rose and cheered him-an honour that was never before paid to a minister.

The remainder of these volumes consists of despatches to and from our various ambassadors and envoys abroad, chiefly referring to transactions unimportant at the present time, though containing matter valuable to the future historian. But his sagacity is always evident. In a letter to

mence.

Prince Metternich in 1820, he thus speaks of the disturbance which must follow the expected arrival of the late unfortunate Queen Caroline. "Our Session is likely to be a troublesome one, and to me it begins inauspiciously, having been seized by the gout two days before the battle was to comMuch will depend on the course her Majesty shall think fit to pursue. If she is wise enough to accept the pont d'or which we have tendered her, the calamities and scandal of a public investigation will be avoided. If she is mad enough, or so ill-advised, as to put her foot upon English ground, I shall, from that moment, regard Pandora's box as opened."

The prediction was fulfilled; the queen was "mad enough" to set her foot on English ground-the king was angry enough to prosecute her-the populace were petulant enough to insult the king and the laws-and in the midst of a confusion, of which no man could calculate the possible hazards, the unhappy woman died, probably a victim to her own anxieties.

Lord Castlereagh had now attained a succession of honours. He had been elevated two steps in the Peerage at once; he had obtained the Garter; he virtually held two ministerial offices of the highest rank the Home Department and the Foreign Secretaryship; he held the highest place in the respect and confidence of the foreign courts; to the general eye he was the Premier; all the clamours that had surrounded his early career had died away; the acclamation of the House of Commons had been echoed round the kingdom; the vigour which had extinguished the Irish rebellion, the firmness which had carried the Irish Union, the courage which had sustained the spirit of the Allied Cabinets, and the sagacity which had laid the foundations of the longest peace of Europe, left the

statesman without a rival, and the man without even a detractor.

But, in this fulness of honours, his health began to fail. Attacks of gout enfeebled a frame naturally robust. The effect was perceived by the King, the Duke of Wellington, and the Cabinet. He sat silent in council; and though apparently in possession of his faculties, yet was so far reluctant to exert them that his friends became alarmed, and he was put under constant medical care. At length he went to his country seat in Kent; but on the Monday after his arrival, the physician was suddenly summoned to his dressing-room, where he found his noble patient a suicide. The coroner's inquest was, "Mental derangement."

A letter from the Duke of Wellington, communicating the sad intelligence to the present Marquis of Londonderry, then at Vienna, says

"You will have seen that I had witnessed the melancholy state of mind which was the cause of the catastrophe. I saw him, after he had been with the King, on the 9th inst., to whom he had likewise exposed it; but fearing that he would not send for his physician, I considered it my duty to go to him, and not finding him, to write to him.

"You will readily believe what a consternation this deplorable event has occasioned here. The funeral was attended by every person in London of any mark or distinction of all parties."

Thus was lost to the service of the Empire a high-minded man and high-principled minister, firm in the most trying circumstances of public life, and sagacious in the severest difficulties of foreign policy; honoured while he lived, and regretted in the grave; leaving behind him, in his private conduct, an unblemished character, and in his administrative capacity a model for the future possessors of power in England.

PARIS THEATRICALS.

THE five-and-twenty theatres of the capital of France are of universal reputation; and many foreigners, into whose anticipations of pleasure they largely enter, reach Paris impressed with the difficulty of selecting those best worth seeing. A Handbook to the Theatres of the Continent is a desideratum which may one day be supplied. It would be an agreeable task to an enthusiastic and locomotive theatrical amateur to write such a work, including in it the theatres of the French, German, Italian, and Belgian capitals; and no unprofitable speculation, perhaps, to a publisher, thus to supply the want frequently experienced by a very large proportion of the countless English tourists who annually, and at all seasons, ramble upon the Continent. In the absence of the desired volume, a few lines suffice to give such a cursory and general analysis of the Paris theatres in 1853, as to direct the visitor where, according to his tastes, his time will best be bestowed. The theatres of Paris are easily classed, and cater well for all tastes. If music be his preference, and the lyric stage to him more attractive than classic tragedy, sterling comedy, graceful vaudeville, or ludicrous farce, he will find abundant supply. The Grand Opera, if not all that some of us remember it, still affords a rich musical treat to its numerous frequenters. The Italian theatre, in a sinking state since the February revolution, has this year, thanks to the remarkable talent of Anna de la Grange and Cruvelli, meritoriously supported by Belletti, Rossi, and others of less note, shown renewed vitality, and has once more attracted those fashionable audiences which formerly it never failed to show. To lovers of the gay and brilliant music of the French composers, the Opéra Comique offers its copious repertory and its excellent company of singers. And, upon the far-off Boulevard du Temple-beyond the Paris lounger's usual beat-lower in its prices, but less commodious in its position, the Théatre Historique, built under the auspices of Alexandre

Dumas for the performance of historical dramas, has taken the name of the Théatre Lyrique, and gives opera and ballet. There may be heard the veteran Chollet, the original Postilion de Longjumeau, his voice somewhat the worse for wear, but still preserving its fine upper notes; and there Guy Stéphan and St Leon ably sustain the dancing department.

Persons desirous of a hearty laugh, who love farce and burlesque, comic singing and practical jokes, varied occasionally by comediettas of a rather higher order, or, casually, by some pathetic social drama of the nature of the Dame aux Camélias, had best confine themselves to three theatres-those three a host in themselves. The Variétés, the Palais-Royal, the Vaudeville, are all within the length of a street. The Rue Vivienne begins next door to one, ends at the entrance to another, and passes in front of a third. Lovers of drama and melodrama must away to the boulevards of St Martin and the Temple, where the Porte St Martin, the Gaité, and the Ambigu Comique favour the commission of all manner of crimes, and Mélingue and Frederick Lemaitre are in their glory.

We have named ten out of the two dozen theatres of Paris. The remainder are of various degrees of inferiority, and, generally speaking, hardly worth the foreigner's putting himself out of his way to visit them, with the exception of three, which we have reserved for a last and less cursory mention. The names of the Comédie Française, the Gymnase Dramatique, and the Odéon, will already have suggested themselves. To strangers well acquainted with the finesses of the French language, or who may be willing to qualify themselves as auditors by previous perusal of the piece to be represented, the Comédie Française is unquestionably the most interesting and agreeable theatre in Paris, and the one where the highest degree of intellectual enjoyment is to be obtained. You can hardly enter it without the certainty of seeing a good play; you are quite sure to see

good actors. Fourteen years of uninterrupted triumphs have established the fame of Rachel as the first living actress in Europe. With her, Nathalie, the two Brohans, Judith, and Madame Allan, make up an amount of female talent not often found united upon any stage. The male performers are no less remarkable; and we have but to name Samson, Beauvallet, Geffroy, Régnier, Provost, to remind frequenters of the Comédie Française of a host of delightful evenings and high artistical triumphs.

The Gymnase Dramatique is one of the most elegant and agreeable theatres in Paris in the character of its performances. Many prefer the more highly-spiced dishes of the Variétés and Vaudeville; but with the refined classes of the Parisians, the Gymnase is the favourite. As its name indicates, it was originally intended merely as a place of exercise and practice for young comedians. The pupils of the Conservatory were there to pass a period of probation, previously to making their appearance at the Comédie Française, or Opéra Comique. The performance was to consist of short one-act pieces. But it so happened that many of these pieces were written by one Scribe, who has renewed, in our day, the marvellous fertility of the old Spanish playwrights, and whose wit, taste, and dramatic skill, combined with the exertions of an able manager to give the Gymnase an importance, and secure to it an amount of public favour, such as had never been anticipated. After the Orleanist accession, its prosperity waned, owing to reasons of professional opposition uninteresting here to detail. Then the management changed, the vogue returned, and, for the last ten years, the Gymnase has enjoyed a well-merited and uninterrupted popularity. At the present time it has an excellent company, and is nightly full to the roof. Its prices of admission are of the highest, after the operas and the Comédie Française, and its receipts must be large. More than one of its actors and actresses might fairly aspire to, and probably obtain, admission to the more elevated stage of the Comédie Française; but they all pull so well together where they now are, that it would be a pity

to see any of them transplanted. Rose Chéri, ever charming and true to nature, would be an acquisition to any theatre, but, as the wife of the manager, she may be considered a fixture. Bressant is a graceful and accomplished comedian, who has probably never been surpassed in the line of characters he takes. He is intelligent, of an agreeable exterior, always admirably dressed, and his play of countenance is full of finesse. He perhaps acts a little too much at his audience, especially at its female portion, with whom he is a prodigious favourite; but this is easily overlooked in the general merit and distinction of his performance. He was for some time at the French theatre at St Petersburg, where he was greatly prized. On his return he went to the Gymnase, where he has now been for about seven years. Mademoiselle Luther, who has lately performed in London, has many admirable qualities as an actress. Mademoiselle Figeac is pretty, elegant, and natural, and plays secondary but yet prominent parts with infinite grace and ease. Geoffroy is an excellent actor, steady, judicious, and possessing a fund of real humour, free from grimace, caricature, and triviality. His performance of Mercadet-the hero of the comedy of the same name, known in England as The Game of Speculation-is a fine piece of acting. These are by no means all the good actors at the Gymnase; but, as we are not writing a dictionary of the Paris stage, we will enumerate no further, especially as we shall just now have occasion incidentally to mention others.

Let the reader take the map of Paris, and, stationing himself on that Italian Boulevard where foreigners love to loiter, to breakfast, and to dine, gaze due south, down the Rue Richelieu, over the Palais-Royal and the Louvre, across the Pont des Arts, up the Rue de Seine, into the recesses of the region renowned for dirty streets, bearded students, cheap restaurateurs, greasy billiard-tables, and slatternly grisettes. Next door to the Palace of the Luxembourg, close to the entrance to its spacious garden, the lung of that close quarter of Paris, stands a large handsome building, its stately portico sustained by Doric

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