xander of Russia will also one
day regret, having deserted the great man he once called brother!" And,
in his delicate and generous endeavor to remind Napoleon of one of his
moments of grandeur, Talma continued: "Your majesty perhaps remembers
that evening at Tilsit, when the Emperor of Russia made you so tender a
declaration of his love, publicly and before the whole world? But no,
you cannot remember it; for you it was a matter of no moment; but I--I
shall never forget it! It was at the theatre; we were playing 'Oedipus.'
I looked up at the box in which your majesty sat, between the King of
Prussia and the Emperor Alexander. I could see you only--the second
Alexander of Macedon, the second Julius Caesar--and I held my arms aloft
and saw you only when I repeated the words of my part: 'The friendship
of a great man is a gift of the gods!' And as I said this, the Emperor
Alexander arose and pressed you to his heart. I saw this, and tears
choked my utterance. The audience applauded rapturously; this applause
was, however, not for me, but for the Emperor Alexander[53]!"

[Footnote 53: This scene is entirely historical. See Bossuet, Memoires;
Bourrienne, Memoires; Cochelet and Une Femme de Qualite.]

While Talma was speaking, his cheeks glowing and his eyes flashing, a
rosy hue suffused the emperor's countenance, and, for an instant, he
smiled. Talma had attained his object; he had raised up the humiliated
emperor with the recital of his own grandeur.

Napoleon thanked him with a kindly glance, and extended his hand to bid
him adieu.

As Talma approached the emperor, a carriage was heard driving up in
front of the house. It was Letitia, the emperor's mother, who had come
to take leave of her son. Talma stood still, in breathless suspense; in
his heart he thanked Providence for permitting him to witness this
leave-taking.

"Madame mere" walked past Talma in silence, and without observing him.
She saw only her son, who stood in the middle of the room, his sombre
and flashing glance fastened on her with an unutterable expression. Now
they stood face to face, mother and son. The emperor's countenance
remained immovable as though hewn out of marble.

They stood face to face in silence, but two great tears slowly trickled
down the mother's cheeks. Talma stood in the background, weeping
bitterly. Napoleon remained unmoved. Letitia now raised both hands and
extended them to the emperor. "Adieu, my son!" said she, in full and