The abbe bowed penitently, and with tears in his eyes.  Bonaparte turned his back to him, and ordered him to be taken to Poncino.

From that day, however, much as he hated General Bonaparte, the Abbe Sergi received no more letters from Paradise.

Nevertheless, the letters of the Abbe Sergi were not those which gave the most solicitude to Bonaparte; much worse were those he received from Paris, which gave him an account of the persevering intrigues of his enemies, and the malicious slanders that were circulated against him by the Directory, who were envious of his power and superiority, and which mischievous and poisonous calumnies were re-echoed in the newspapers.

These insidious attacks of the journals, more than any thing else, excited Bonaparte’s vehement anger.  The hero who, on the battle-field, trembled not before the balls which whizzed about his head, had a violent dislike to those insect-stings of critics who, like wasps humming round about the laurel-wreath on his brow, ever found between the leaves of his fame some place where with their stings they could wound him, and who was as sensitive as a young blameless maiden would be against the wasp-stings of slander.

This irritable sensitiveness led him to consider those detestable attacks of the journals worth a threatening denunciation to the Directory.

“Citizen-directors,” wrote he to them, “I owe you an open confession; my heart is depressed and filled with horror through the constant attacks of the Parisian journals.  Sold to the enemies of the republic, they rush upon me, who am boldly defending the republic.  ‘I am keeping the plunder,’ whilst I am defeating them; ’I affect despotism,’ whilst I speak only as general-in-chief; ’I assume supreme power,’ and yet I submit to law!  Every thing I do is turned to a crime against me; the poison streams over me.

“Were any one in Italy to dare give utterance to the one-thousandth part of those calumnies, I would impose upon him an awful silence!

“In Paris, this is allowed to go on unpunished, and your tolerance is an encouragement.  The Directory is thus producing the impression that it is opposed to me.  If the directors suspect me, let them say so, and I will justify myself.  If they are convinced of my uprightness, let them defend me.

“In this circle of argument, I include the Directory with me, and cannot go beyond it.  My desire is, to be useful to my country.  Must I, for reward, drink the cup of poison?

“I can no longer be satisfied with empty, evasive arguments; and if justice is not done to me, then I must take it myself.  Therefore, I am yours.  Salutation and brotherly love.  BONAPAKTE.”

But all these vexations, hostilities, and calumnies, were, however, as already said, mere clouds, which now and then obscured the bright sunshine at the court of Montebello.  At a smile or a loving word from Josephine, they flew away rapidly, and the sunshine again in all its splendor, the pleasures, feasts, and joys, continued in their undisturbed course.  All Italy did homage to the conqueror, and it was therefore very natural that sculptors and painters should endeavor to draw some advantage from this enthusiasm for its deliverer, and that they should endeavor to represent to the admirers of Bonaparte his peculiar form and countenance.