thus that the French designated the descendant of heroes, who were the glory of their country.  Even if they abjured all the prejudices of illustrious birth, which the return of monarchical forms would necessarily recall, could they blaspheme in thus manner the recollection of the battles of Lens and Rocroi?  This Bonaparte who has gained so many battles, does not even know how to respect them; with him there is neither past nor future; his imperious and contemptuous soul will recognize nothing for opinion to hold sacred; he admits only respect for the force which is in existence.  Prince Louis wrote to me, beginning his note in these words, “The person called Louis of Prussia begs to know of Madame de Stael, &c.”  He felt the insult offered to the royal blood from which he sprung, to the recollection of the heroes, in the roll of whom he burned to place his name.  How was it possible, after this horrible action, for a single monarch in Europe to connect himself with such a man?  Necessity, will it be said?  There is a sanctuary in the soul to which his empire never ought to penetrate; if there were not, what would virtue be upon this earth? a mere liberal amusement which could only suit the peaceful leisure of private individuals.

A lady of my acquaintance related to me, that a few days after the death of the Duke d’Enghien, she went to take a walk round the castle of Vincennes; the ground, still fresh, marked the spot where he had been buried; some children were playing with little quoits upon this mound of turf, the only monument for the ashes of such a man.  An old invalid, with silvered locks, was sitting at a little distance, and remained some time looking at these children; at last he arose, and leading them away by the hand, said to them, shedding some tears, “Do not play there, my children, I beseech you.”  These tears were all the honors that were paid to the descendant of the great Conde, and the earth did not long bear the impression of them.

For a moment at least, public opinion seemed to awaken in France, and indignation, was general.  But when these generous flames were extinguished, despotism was but the more easily established, from the vain efforts which had been made to resist it.  The first consul was for some days rather uneasy at the disposition of men’s minds.  Fouche himself blamed this action; he made use of this expression, so characteristic of the present regime:  “It is worse than a crime; it is a fault.”  There are many ideas in this short phrase; but fortunately we may reverse it with truth, by affirming that the greatest of faults is crime.  Bonaparte asked an honest senator, what was thought of the death of the Duke d’Enghien.  “General,” replied he, “it has given great affliction.”  “I am not astonished at it,” said Bonaparte, “a house which has long reigned in a country always interests:”  thus wishing to connect with motives of party interest the most natural feeling that the human heart can experience.  Another