of Vohberg learn from the margrave that Frederic had made formal proposals for her hand. And after the first ecstasy of triumph had subsided, she flew to the Benedictine convent to share her joy with her never-forgotten friend, the cloistered Gela. Adelaide had never marvelled at Gela's sudden resolution of taking the veil; she thought it the natural result of her disappointment, for she believed that Gela's mysterious lover had never reappeared to fulfil his promise of discovering himself. And now. Gela, as Sister Agatha, received her joyous friend with an emotion she little guessed. But she kept her secret, which could but have pained the princess. She could not tell that proud and exulting lady, that to the generosity of her humble attendant she owed her imperial suitor.

*

The Emperor Frederic espoused the Princess Adelaide. And while he gave to Gela this proof of his obedience to her will, he determined on erecting a memorial to her honour. The convent where she was professed stood in an isle of the Kinzig, in a charming valley, varied with wood, and hill, and water, and protected by a chain of hills uniting with the mountains of Franconia, and with the Vogelsberg of Wetteravia. In that isle, and beside that convent, he built a magnificent palace, of which the interesting ruins are still visited by travellers, who explore with admiration its façades, its pillared arcade, its chapel and towers, and hall of justice, the spacious court, with the statue of the emperor. In that valley, too, and round that convent, he built a city, and gave it the name of Gela hausen, that is, Gela's town (now corrupted into Gelenhausen, or Gelnhausen), that the memory of Gela's blameless and noble sacrifice might live for ever in her native country. When Adelaide inquired with surprise why the new-built city was called after a lowly and humble nun, Frederic revealed to her the story of his love and of Gela's purity. And Adelaide felt no jealous pang. Gela acquired a lustre in her eyes for having been beloved by the emperor.

"Yes," she said, when he finished his recital, "a city is a befitting me

Time passed. Adelaide was blest. She had obtained the summit of her wishes; but human happiness is mutable, and wishes fulfilled do not always secure it. Adelaide was childless. Frederic's hereditary subjects were loud in their desire of an heir. His position became an anxious one. The Milanese rebelled against him. His interference became necessary between Roger, king of Sicily, and his oppressed subjects. He was obliged to resist the encroachments of the pope on his imperial prerogatives. He required fresh allies and powerful connexions. In brief, Adelaide, the quick-sighted, the noble, the unselfish, saw with a woman's penetration in the interests of the beloved, that if he were freed from her to make a more brilliant connexion, to gratify his subjects with an heir, to daunt his enemies by a new and powerful alliance, his star would gain the ascendant in Europe; and she nerved herself to relinquish him (as she once said she could) in the midst of gratified love, ambition, splendour, and enjoyment. She proposed the divorce between two hearts that understood and appreciated each other.

Adelaide reasoned with her reluctant husband, and obtained from him, not without great exertion, the fulfilment of her last desire-the wreck of all her own happiness, save the happiness of self-approval. Their consanguinity provided the pretext for their divorce, and Adelaide became once more only Frederic's cousin.

Again Adelaide visited Gela in the convent, now become spacious and splendid by Frederic's bounty, and a conspicuous object in the city of Gelnhausen. She had come there a happy bride, but now more desolate than a widow. She poured out her bleeding heart to Gela. She told her of the pang of parting for ever with her hero, her imperial husband. "You, Gela," she said, "you can feel for me, for you have known something of the pang of separation from him; but, oh, not so deeply, so keenly, as I have felt it,

for he has never been to you what he has been to me. And truly I believe, that I never could have brought myself to this mighty sacrifice but for your bright example, which guided me like a star in the paths of duty."

And now Adelaide's chief enjoyment in life was to repair to Gelnhausen (whenever Frederic was far away) to visit Gela, and walk with her in the convent-garden, and talk of the increasing fame of the emperor; and sometimes Adelaide would beg the gentle nun's indulgence while she sat down on a grassy bank, with her eyes upturned to the setting sun, and sang a little lay, dictated to her by her fond remembrance of her cousin, and some time lover:—

ample. But this is no uncommon case. Men are often far more indebted to the devotion of women than their pride or their justice will confess. Beatrix, the empress, became the mother of several children, and the partner of a brilliant destiny. She often visited with Frederic the palace at Gelnhausen; for he loved to breathe the same air as Gela, the still beloved, because ever honoured Gela; and to perform some of his princely and munificent acts within the sphere of her own knowledge.

We have chosen to extract the tale of Gela's love, and the origin of Gelnhausen, from the obscurer parts of history, because it is so dissimilar from what chroniclers usually tell us of the Beloved of Monarchs. We read so much of women who have bartered female honour for titled honours; who have flaunted abroad decked in all jewels, save one; who have paraded their meretricious influence at court; who have deemed vice excused if well gilded; and whose names blot the record of their sovereigns' lives. History has so widely blazoned forth the Pompadours and the Castlemaines in its most noted chapters, that it is refreshing to reverse the picture, and to draw from the more neglected pages the memory of one woman, who, though the beloved of an emperor, young, handsome, and brilliant, still continued blameless, simple, modest, yet heroic, and whose name reflects a cloudless light on his that is associated with it.

M. E. M.

THE victory and spoil-breathing host, which, like a torrent of lava, had burst from the Apennines, and swept with resistless rapidity over Piedmont, now prepared to rest from its toils, and to enjoy, for a brief space at least, the reward of so many hardy actions. Abandoning the pursuit of the Austrians, relinquishing the prospect of finding Mantua, which had been looked upon as beyond the reach of danger, unprepared for defence, the conqueror leaving a corps at Cremona to observe the retiring enemy, retraced their steps, turned upon Milan and Pavia, and extended themselves over the fertile plains of Western Lombardy.

The Archduke Ferdinand and his consort had left Milan immediately after the passage of the Po. A vast crowd assembled to witness their departure; but though the princess was in tears, not a single voice was raised to express a word of sympathy for her sufferings: the multitude were dark and silent. The only mark of respect they evinced towards rulers, who, at least, had been kind and gentle, was to refrain from open insult, so deeply were all imbued with the spirit of republicanism. On the 14th of May, the youthful conqueror held his entry into the capital of the Lombard kings. He was received with boisterous demonstrations of joy; triumphal arches were raised on his passage; streets, palaces, tem

ples, were decorated, the tree of liberty was planted, and public deputations hailed him as the harbinger of peace, happiness, and prosperity. What impression this reception made on Napoleon, we have no means of knowing, but that it left no very deep trace of gratitude in his breast, is sufficiently attested by the result. No sooner had the citadel, which was still in possession of the Austrians, been formally invested, and the military occupation of the city secured, than a contribution of twenty millions of francs was imposed; all church-plate, all public funds, even those belonging to hospitals and charities, were seized. Thirty of the finest pictures, besides vases, manuscripts, and other works of art, were, in like manner, taken possession of and sent to Paris. Such were the first marks of Republican gratitude conferred on the Milanese.

While the general was making the necessary arrangements for the government of the conquered provinces, imposing contributions, levying requisitions, the spirit of hostility to the new guests was already spreading with extraordinary rapidity. The licentious conduct of the troops exceeded, indeed, all bounds.* clergy were openly insulted, the churches desecrated, the peace of families destroyed by the lawless conduct of armed ruffians; the property of individuals seized at the will

The

of the soldiers, or called in at the dictates of any petty chief who thought himself authorised to levy contributions at pleasure. Many armics have since swept over the fertile plains of Lombardy; but even to this day the most frightful tales are told of the brigand conduct pursued by the first Republican invader of the country.

'The blame of this misconduct does not, however, rest altogether with Napoleon, or the army, it falls principally on the French government, who left their troops without money or supplies, and, without these, discipline cannot possibly be maintained. It is not to be expected that soldiers, with arms in their hands, will suffer want and famine when they see plenty around, and in the possession of those whom they deem their enemies. They feel that they have power, and naturally use it; and though thousands may use it with moderation, hundreds will abuse; and the misconduct of the few will not only blacken the fame of the many, but will gradually entice others to follow the criminal example; till, from the minor excesses of the smaller number, the majority become familiar with every species of guilt and depravity. The French are neither a cruel nor blood-thirsty people; on the contrary, no people are more easily excited to sentiments of generosity and good feeling, and every rank of their army is full of men distinguished as much for humanity as for valour; but the very men who would rush fearlessly upon any danger in the field, will repress the best emotions of the heart, rather than face the coarse jest of some ruffian comrade deriding humanity in war, as a weakness unworthy of a soldier, and as only a fit attribute for a Parisian muscadin during the idle hours of peace and pleasure; so that in the end a callous indifference to human suffering is considered a necessary proof and accompaniment of the true esprit militaire.

Lombardy suffered from the effects of these fatal causes; and it was not till the heavy contributions levied on the country itself, had enabled more regular supplies to be issued to the invaders, that discipline was in some degree restored; in the first instance the excesses of the troops drove the inhabitants to open revolt.

Napoleon had left Milan, and was again at Lodi on his march towards the Mincio, when, on the 23d of May, news reached him that an insurrection had broken out at Pavia, where three hundred French troops, forming the garrison of the castle, had been forced to surrender. Reports of the arrival of large Austrian armies were circulated among the people, the tocsin was sounded in the villages, and a rising was hourly expected to take place at Milan. The army was immediately countermarched, and Napoleon placing himself at the head of a brigade of artillery, some battalions of infantry, and three hundred horsemen, proceeded directly to the capital. His reception was very different from what it had been ten days before: no resistance indeed was offered, but the streets were crowded with darkbrowed men, whose gloomy aspects bore ample testimony of the hatred that lurked within their breasts. But their preparations had been tardy, and the French exertions were quick. All who were considered as ringleaders, or found to be armed, were seized and shot; hostages were taken from the principal families; and the clergy, nobility, and municipality, informed that they would be held responsible for public tranquillity.

This settled, Napoleon directed his march towards Pavia. At Benasco some seven or eight hundred armed peasants attempted to oppose further progress; they were instantly attacked and routed, and all who were taken put to the sword, and the village given to the flames after being duly sacked. On the morning of the 26th, the French appeared before Pavia, and vainly summoned the insurgents to submit. The first attempt to force the gate also failed; but as the peasants had no artillery, they were soon driven from the walls by grape-shot; the gate was then burst open, the nearest houses seized and occupied, and the cavalry sent in to clear the streets. Submission soon followed, and its consequences also. The members of the municipality were ordered to be shot, the garrison decimated, the town set on fire in several places, and some given over to plunder, and to the license of the troops.

These were the first of the many

acts of unhesitating ferocity that blacken the name of Napoleon. To order the cold-blooded execution of men who had taken arms in their country's cause, who had respected the lives of the three hundred French prisoners that fell into their hands, was nothing short of deliberate murder. Committed, too, at a moment when the most splendid success, at the very outset of his career, might have been expected to create some generous feelings in the most callous heart, or called forth some high and gallant disdain of feeble adversaries; but not a single exalted sentiment could be awakened, or one spark of noble flame kindled, in the worthless clay of which the heart of Napoleon was composed. When, in 1814, the throne of this ignoble man was threatened, when his own possessions were in danger, he then taunted the peasantry of the south of France with their want of patriotism, their inertness in the cause of the country, in refraining to sweep the British invaders from the soil of the great nation: when his own cause was at stake, he called upon the foresters of the Vosgues to "hunt the allied soldiers to death, even like wolves,”called upon the people to repeat the very deeds for which he had butchered the unhappy Lombards.

The Austrian troops had not been pursued after the battle of Lodi; they had retired behind the Mincio, and Beaulieu having thrown twenty of his best battalions into Mantua, and received some reinforcements from Germany, resolved again to try the fate of arms, and, if possible, to defend the passage of the river. Measures, however, were badly taken; the troops were dispersed along the banks, and on the 30th May, the French forced the passage after a - brief action, in which little loss was experienced.

It is a curious circumstance that both the adverse commanders were nearly taken on this occasion; and both at the same place, and from similar causes. Beaulieu was unwell at the village of St. Giorgio, near Borghetto, and had only time to escape from the French cavalry when they forced the passage of the bridge. Napoleon, seeing the Austrians in full retreat, after the action at Villaggio, thought the affair was at an

VOL. XXXIII. NO. CXCIV.

end, and having a severe headach, retired to St. Giorgio to take a footbath. While he was thus engaged, Sebottendorf's hussars arrived, and the few French who were with their general had only time to close the gates of the inn and help the future emperor to fly through the garden, and mount his horse with only one boot on Massena's division being close at hand, security was soon restored.

Thus ended the passage of the Mincio, where entire divisions, with numerous batteries of artillery and squadrons of cavalry, remained inactive within reach and hearing of the scene of action, while a single battalion, with one piece of artillery, sustained against a whole army a combat, in the result of which the most important consequences depended.

It is worthy of remark, perhaps, that the unfortunate Beaulieu lost Piedmont and Lombardy without being present in any of the actions fought by his troops. As he was a man of the highest personal courage, this could only be matter of accident; but the events of the campaign shew, nevertheless, how important it is for a general to be on the point nearest the enemy, so as to be in readiness to take advantage of every turn of fortune; and it is impossible to say what the face of the world might be at this day had Beaulieu been present in every battle-field, and ready to gather all his forces around him the moment the time to strike had arrived.

66

It was during some part of the campaign here attempted to be described, that, as biographers assure us, Napoleon entered into conversation with an old Hungarian officer, who had been taken prisoner, and asked him, "What he thought of the state of affairs?" 'Nothing can be worse," replied the old gentleman, who did not know he was addressing the French general; "here is a young man who knows absolutely nothing of the rules of war; one day he is in our rear, next day on our flank, and then again in our front. Such violation of the principles of the art of war is intolerable." It is generally believed that the art prescribes the striking at the flank and rear, at the weak points of an army; and it was in their constant attempts to strike in

M