human nature, of life, and of a cultivated mind. Tragedy fires the
heart, elevates the soul, and can or rather must create heroes. I am
convinced that France is indebted to the works of Corneille for many of
her greatest men. If he were living I would make a prince of him."

"Your majesty, by your words, has just adorned his memory with the
coronet of a prince," said Goethe. "Corneille would assuredly have
deserved it, for he was a poet in the noblest sense, and imbued with the
ideas and principles of modern civilization. He never makes his heroes
die in consequence of a decree of fate, but they always bear in
themselves the germ of their ruin or death; it is a natural, rational
death, not an artificial one."

"Let us say no more about the ancients and their fatalism," exclaimed
Napoleon; "they belong to a darker age. Political supremacy is our
modern fatalism, and our tragedies must be the school of politicians and
statesmen. That is the highest summit which poets are able to reach.
You, for instance, ought to write the death of Caesar; it seems to me you
could present a much more exalted view of it than Voltaire did. That
might become the noblest task of your life. It ought to be proved to the
world how happy and prosperous Caesar would have made it if time had been
given him to carry his comprehensive plans into effect. What do you
think of it, M. von Goethe?"

"Sire," said Goethe, with a polite smile, "I should prefer to write the
life and career of Caesar, and in doing so I should not be at a loss for
a model." His eyes met those of the emperor, and they well understood
each other. Both of them smiled.

"You ought to go to Paris," exclaimed Napoleon. "I insist on your doing
so. There you will find abundant matter for your muse."

"Your majesty provides the poets of the present time, wherever they may
be, with abundant matter," said Goethe, not in the tone of a courtier,
but with the tranquillity of a prince who confers a favor.

"You must go to Paris," repeated Napoleon. "We shall meet again."

Goethe, who was an experienced courtier, understood the delicate hint,
and stepped back from the table. Napoleon addressed a question to
Marshal Soult, who entered at this moment. The poet withdrew without
further ceremony. The eyes of the emperor followed the tall, proud
figure, and turning to Berthier, he repeated his exclamation, "_Voila un
homme_!"

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE CHASE AND THE ASSASSINS.

The tw