The legend is that her last articulate utterance was the enchanted name of "Napoleon"--"Elba." Corvisat, the Imperial physician, was piteously asked by the Emperor on his return why he allowed her to die, and the nature of the malady that took her spirit away. He replied that she "Died of grief and sorrow." Her own doctor, Horeau, told him pretty much the same thing, which brought forth the sad reply, she was a "good woman" and "loved me well." The intimation that she had spoken often and kindly of him brought back all the old passion for her and filled him with emotion. He had heard of her death while at Elba, and told Corvisat that it was a most acute grief to him, and although she had her failings _she_ at least would "never have abandoned him"; and possibly this latter expressed opinion, so often repeated, might have been fulfilled had he at once thrown Marie Louise over after her desertion of him. The popular charges against Napoleon, by those who are either prejudiced or have failed to inform themselves of his history, are that he must have been a cruel and barbarous husband or he would not have divorced his wife, and that, as a ruler, he thirsted for blood. Each of these, as well as many other silly things that are said and believed of him, is palpably false. As a husband, so far as kindness and indulgence goes, he was exemplary. As a soldier, First Consul, and Emperor, his desire at all times was for peace. History has revealed the real man, and in recent years it has been convincingly proved that he was the very antithesis of the monster he has been given out and supposed to be. Now, in the light of more accurate knowledge and calmer judgment, the world is showing a desire to do him the justice he never ceased to believe that it would do him. His unexampled personality and fame is spreading and inspiring everywhere. His faults are being put in the limelight of public opinion, and the growing desire to treat even these with proper generosity is an indication that reason and knowledge are taking the place of stereotyped international prejudice, political and personal. We are beginning to see more clearly through the fog of enmity that he had rare virtues, besides having unparalleled genius. The divorce of Josephine was unquestionably political, though had he been the ferocious creature he has been made to appear, the opportunities she gave him so frequently would have justified the divorce at a much earlier stage on other than political grounds. It ill becomes a nation which knew George I., George IV., and Henry VIII. to take such unctuous exception to the gentle and benevolent attitude of Napoleon before and after the annulment of the marriage. FOOTNOTES: