New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1871-08-16

squares Of Paris the centennial anniversary
of the birthday Of Napoleon. There
was probably never shown in tho
world more magnifccntly mounted soene'
From the Place of Concorde where the fouh-
tains, by q masterpiece of theatrie arrange
ment were flinging up into the starlight
dozen fountains of prismatio colors, up tho
long avenue of the Champs Elyse6s brighter
than day with its myriad jots OF gas )"
where at their western limit the great wni'o
Arch of the Star lowered wonderful ana ciA-
phanous in its blaze Ell electric lights LOOMING
up against the Jaar obscure like the poroe.','n
Mortal of realm of dreams the Dea'i'i''h
city y.h wrapped in one blaze Oh cunnl's
n,,S1c MANNED by the brain OF artists anu ac-
comnl;sbea nv the unsparing hands OF spend
thrift courtiers. and the seemingly inexhausu-
BILE purse of France. But In all thls iichhs
snlendor there was no touch of popular love or
veneration. The expense was all paid ny inc
Emniro which was sustained by the name ana
the memory of Napoleon. The people, and the
idle pilgrims from worldwide regions came
ont 70 look and wonder and admire, with de-
lighted ewes and unmovcd hearts. 1t
was the gorgeous pageant OF worship
whose faith had persisted in the minus
and the hearts of its former votaries. In the
light even of the half developed democracy OF
to-day the doom of that splendid deuslon Oh
imperialism was read. Even in that night OF
its apotheosis might have been heard that cry
of desolatiOn and warning which sounded over
the Egean at the birth of religious democracy
in Palestine, proclaiming that Pau was
dead. Only two years have passed anu
to-day the Scottish poet is moro hOnored
in Paris on the Fifteenth of August than either
the great Emperor, or the saint whose name
he bore. In the simple ceremonies which
grateful world is paying him, the chilling
hand of official interference is nowhere seen.
The hearts he has sOothed and choered In
movement of pure gratitude come forward 10
unite in expressions of praise and congratula-
ton for the good gift of his life and genius
to our literature and our time.
All this has seemed so natural that few have
paused to consider how extraordinary is this
tribute. Ordinarily the lapse of half-ccntury
ia too short to gain for the dead the consecra-
ton of time and tradition, and yet is too long
10 preserve in the mode the fashion OF his
works. 1t is greatly to be feared that in fifty
years the world will lose our keen relish for
some of our most beloved rOmancers Of to-day.
We cannot express feeling of compassion
for the idler of the future who will fail to see
the fun of Sam Weller, and will find
nothing but gibberish in the ballads
of Policeman X But there is no good reason
why the Waverley novels should not enjoy in
another century very much the same solid
esteem which is lavished upon them to-day.
They are not deformed by any trick or man
nerism of construction. They are not loaded
down with q sermon of the hour. They are
not the trumpeters of any fight which will
make them quaint and Old-fashioned az soon
as it is won or lost. So far as the works of
Scott have purpose-and we speak now of
that grand series of tales of chivalry,
in prose and verse, upon which his true
fame will rest for ever-they are devoted to
the perpetuatiOn Of the memory of time and
a system which the world even in the authors
day, had OutgrowD and of which it is now
rapidly destroying the last lingering remnants.
1t is the spirit of feudal chivalry, and the re-
lated passion of personal loyalty to kings,
which informs the creations of Scott with a
light as beautiful and deceptive as that which
streams through stOried windows into the
aisles of gothic cathedrals. But this
never Injuries his art The pictures he draws
of an institution which has served its pur-
pose and passed away none too soon, will live
| for ages yet in the imaginations of thousands
! of our readers who do not share his devotion.
1t is we'll that these kindred systems, mon
archy and feudalism, should have some
where their portraits painted by the kind
lest and most skilful of masters, that
the world may see hereafter all they
had not only of good, but of unused
possibilities of good. But Scott was too great
and too catholic for partisan; and feudalst
and Stuartist as he was, there is seen in all
his works rich and cordial humanity which
redeems them and saves them from all mar
rowness and bitterness. He was not like
Milton, whose glorious life was one great
battle for the highest truth and free
dom. He was not like Shakespeare, who
was vast and universal and cOlorless as light.
He was more like Cervantes, partisan and
an enthusiast for cause condemned by the
sober Judgment Of the future, but sure of an
immortal love and reverence in the hearts of
all who shall learn to know his transcendant
genius and the manliness and nobility of his
character.
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