Nine Short Essays | Page 9

determined as fate. So this was the beginning of the Napoleon
"legend"; and by-and-by this coarse head will be idealized into the
Roman Emperor type, in which I myself might have believed but for
the revelations of the night of strange adventure.
What is history? What is this drama and spectacle, that has been put
forth as history, but a cover for petty intrigue, and deceit, and
selfishness, and cruelty? A man shut into the Tuileries Garden begins to
think that it is all an illusion, the trick of a disordered fancy. Who was
Grand, who was Well-Beloved, who was Desired, who was the Idol of
the French, who was worthy to be called a King of the Citizens? Oh,
for the light of day!
And it came, faint and tremulous, touching the terraces of the palace
and the Column of Luxor. But what procession was that moving along
the southern terrace? A squad of the National Guard on horseback, a
score or so of King's officers, a King on foot, walking with uncertain
step, a Queen leaning on his arm, both habited in black, moved out of
the western gate. The King and the Queen paused a moment on the
very spot where Louis XVI. was beheaded, and then got into a carriage
drawn by one horse and were driven rapidly along the quays in the
direction of St. Cloud. And again Revolution, on the heels of the
fugitives, poured into the old palace and filled it with its
tatterdemalions.
Enough for me that daylight began to broaden. "Sleep on," I said, "O
real President, real Emperor (by the grace of coup d'etat) at last, in the
midst of the most virtuous court in Europe, loved of good Americans,
eternally established in the hearts of your devoted Parisians! Peace to
the palace and peace to its lovely garden, of both of which I have had
quite enough for one night!"
The sun came up, and, as I looked about, all the shades and concourse
of the night had vanished. Day had begun in the vast city, with all its
roar and tumult; but the garden gates would not open till seven, and I
must not be seen before the early stragglers should enter and give me a
chance of escape. In my circumstances I would rather be the first to
enter than the first to go out in the morning, past those lynx-eyed
gendarmes. From my covert I eagerly watched for my coming
deliverers. The first to appear was a 'chiffonnier,' who threw his sack

and pick down by the basin, bathed his face, and drank from his hand.
It seemed to me almost like an act of worship, and I would have
embraced that rag-picker as a brother. But I knew that such a
proceeding, in the name even of egalite and fraternite would have been
misinterpreted; and I waited till two and three and a dozen entered by
this gate and that, and I was at full liberty to stretch my limbs and walk
out upon the quay as nonchalant as if I had been taking a morning
stroll.
I have reason to believe that the police of Paris never knew where I
spent the night of the 18th of June. It must have mystified them.

TRUTHFULNESS
Truthfulness is as essential in literature as it is in conduct, in fiction as
it is in the report of an actual occurrence. Falsehood vitiates a poem, a
painting, exactly as it does a life. Truthfulness is a quality like
simplicity. Simplicity in literature is mainly a matter of clear vision and
lucid expression, however complex the subject-matter may be; exactly
as in life, simplicity does not so much depend upon external conditions
as upon the spirit in which one lives. It may be more difficult to
maintain simplicity of living with a great fortune than in poverty, but
simplicity of spirit--that is, superiority of soul to circumstance--is
possible in any condition. Unfortunately the common expression that a
certain person has wealth is not so true as it would be to say that wealth
has him. The life of one with great possessions and corresponding
responsibilities may be full of complexity; the subject of literary art
may be exceedingly complex; but we do not set complexity over
against simplicity. For simplicity is a quality essential to true life as it is
to literature of the first class; it is opposed to parade, to artificiality, to
obscurity.
The quality of truthfulness is not so easily defined. It also is a matter of
spirit and intuition. We have no difficulty in applying the rules of
common morality to certain functions of writers for the public, for
instance, the duties of the newspaper reporter, or the newspaper
correspondent, or the narrator of any