y_ director of Domaine Extraordinaire
was M. de la Boullerie, and, when we fall in with the name of a really
good-hearted man, we delight to record it. He felt that the two young
men had been hardly dealt with, but he had not the power to order a
restitution of the property, now that the seizure had been made, and
sundry perquisities, of course, deducted by the excise officials.
Accordingly, he referred the matter to the Emperor, who commanded the
goods to be immediately restored intact. Napoleon, at the same time,
praised the functionary we have named for calling his attention to the
merits of the case, and thanked him for such an opportunity of
repairing an injustice.[I]

There are many such instances of generosity as the foregoing in the
career of the great Emperor--mild rays of the sun in the midst of
thunderstorms; sweet flowers blowing here and there, in the bosom of
the gigantic projects of his life--which many will esteem more highly
than his miracles of strategy and the renown of his battles. As
nothing that tends to elevate the soul is out of place in this volume,
we may be permitted to insert one or two of these anecdotes.

In 1806, Napoleon was at Potsdam. The Prussians were humbled to the
dust, and the outrage of Rossbach had been fearfully avenged. A letter
was intercepted, in which Prince Laatsfeld, civil governor of Berlin,
secretly informed the enemy of all the dispositions of the French
army. The crime was palpable, capital, and unpardonable. There was
nothing between the life and death of the prince, except the time to
load half a dozen muskets, point them to his breast, and cry--Fire.
The princess flew to the palace, threw herself at the feet of the
Emperor, beseeched, implored, and seemed almost heart-broken. "Madam,"
said Napoleon, "this letter is the only proof that exists of your
husband's guilt. Throw it into the fire." The fatal paper blazed,
crisped, passed from blue to yellow, and the treachery of Prince
Laatsfeld was reduced to ashes.

Another time, a young man, named Von der Sulhn, journeyed from Dresden
to Paris; unless you are told, you could scarcely imagine for what
purpose. There are people who travel for amusement, for business, for
a change of air, or merely to be able to say they have been at such
and such a place. Some go abroad for instruction, others, perhaps,
with no other object in view than to eat frogs in Paris, bouillabaisse
at Marseilles, a polenta at Milan, macaroni at