The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 102, April, 1866 | Page 7

"This Holy
Alliance will soon appear unholy to every nation in Europe. I despised
Napoleon in the plenitude of his power no less than others despise him
in the solitude of his exile: I thought him no less an impostor when he
took the ermine, than when he took the emetic. I confess I do not love
him the better, as some mercenaries in England and Scotland do, for
having been the enemy of my country; nor should I love him the less
for it, had his enmity been principled and manly. In what manner did
this cruel wretch treat his enthusiastic admirer and humble follower,
Toussaint l'Ouverture? He was thrown into a subterranean call, solitary,
dark, damp, pestiferously unclean, where rheumatism racked his limbs,
and where famine terminated his existence." Again, in his written
opinions of Cæsar, Cromwell, Milton, and Bonaparte, Landor criticises
the career of the latter with no fondness, but with much truth, and justly
says, that "Napoleon, in the last years of his sovereignty, fought
without aim, vanquished without glory, and perished without defeat."
Great as was Landor's dislike to the uncle, it paled before his
detestation of the reigning Emperor,--a detestation too general to be
designated an idiosyncrasy on the part of the poet. We always knew
who was meant when a sentence was prefaced with "that rascal" or
"that scoundrel,"--such were the epithets substituted for the name of
Louis Napoleon. Believing the third Napoleon to be the worst enemy of
his foster-mother, Italy, as well as of France, Landor bestowed upon
him less love, if possible, than the majority of Englishmen. Having
been personally acquainted with the Emperor when he lived in England
as an exile, Landor, unlike many of Napoleon's enemies, acknowledged
the superiority of his intellect. "I used to see a great deal of the Prince
when he was in London. I met him very frequently of an evening at
Lady Blessington's, and had many conversations with him, as he
always sought me and made himself particularly civil. He was a very
clever man, well informed on most subjects. The fops used to laugh at
him, and call him a bore. A coxcombical young lord came up to me one
evening after the Prince had taken his leave, and said, 'Mr. Landor, how
can you talk to that fool, Prince Napoleon?' To which I replied, 'My

Lord, it takes a fool to find out that he is not a wise man!' His Lordship
retired somewhat discomfited," added Landor with a laugh, "The Prince
presented me with his work on Artillery, and invited me to his house.
He had a very handsome establishment, and was not at all the poor man
he is so often said to have been." Of this book Landor writes in an
article to the "Quarterly Review" (I think): "If it is any honor, it has
been conferred on me to have received from Napoleon's heir the
literary work he composed in prison, well knowing, as he did, and
expressing his regret for, my sentiments on his uncle. The explosion of
the first cannon against Rome threw us apart forever." I shall not soon
forget Landor's lively narration of Napoleon's escape from the prison at
Ham, given in the same language in which it was told to him by the
Prince. I would feign repeat it here, were it not that an account of this
wonderful escape found its way into print some years ago. Apropos of
Napoleon, an old friend of Landor's told me that, while in London, the
Prince was in the habit of calling upon him after dinner. He would sip
café noir, smoke a cigar, ply his host with every conceivable question,
but otherwise maintain a dignified reticence. It seems then that Louis
Napoleon is indebted to nature, as well as to art, for his masterly ability
in keeping his own counsel.
Among other persons of note encountered by Landor at Lady
Blessington's was Rachel. It was many years ago, before her star had
attained its zenith. "She took tea with her Ladyship, and was
accompanied by a female attendant, her mother I think. Rachel had
very little to say, and left early, as she had an engagement at the theatre.
There was nothing particularly noticeable in her appearance, but she
was very ladylike. I never met her again."
Landor entertained a genuine affection for the memory of Lady
Blessington. "Ah, there was a woman!" he exclaimed one day with a
sigh. "I never knew so brilliant and witty a person in conversation. She
was most generous too, and kind-hearted. I never heard her make an
ill-natured remark. It was my custom to visit her whenever the laurel
was in bloom; and as the season approached, she would write me a note,
saying, 'Gore House expects