a magic word which electrifies and benumbs them.[1] There sleep a thousand cannon in this name, even as in the column of the Place Vendôme, and the Tuileries will tremble should these cannon once awake. As the Jews never idly uttered the name of their God, so Napoleon is here very seldom called by his, and people speak of him as l'homme, "the man." But his picture is seen everywhere, in engravings and plaster casts, metal and wood, and everywhere. On all boulevards and carrefours are orators who praise and popular minstrels who sing him—the Man—and his deeds. Yesterday evening, while returning home, I came into a dark and lonely lane, in which there stood a child some three years old, who, by a candle stuck into the earth, sang an old song praising the Emperor. As I threw him a sou on the handkerchief spread out, something moved by me, also begging for another. It was an old soldier, who could also sing a song of the glory of the great Emperor, for this glory had cost him both legs. The poor
- ↑ During the few preceding passages our author manifests most strikingly his peculiar characteristic of alternating weakness and folly with wisdom and strength. Thus, his feeble-funny remarks as to republicanism and his Hibernian mixtures of metaphors are succeeded by the eulogy of Lafayette—a masterpiece of appreciation—and this deeply shrewd and prophetic remark, that the decisive blow to the monarchy would come from the young Napoleon, which it did indeed, though it was not the young man whom Heine had in view.—Translator.
