But the end was approaching.
The sun of Austerlitz showed the Czar madly sliding his splendid
army like a weaver's shuttle from his right hand to his left, under
the very eyes--the deep, grey, watchful eyes of Napoleon; before
night came, the coalition was a vain thing--meet for history, and
the heart of its great author was crushed with grief when the
terrible tidings came to his ears. In the bitterness of his
despair he cried out to his niece, and bid her, "ROLL UP THE MAP OF
EUROPE"; there was a little more of suffering, and at last, with
his swollen tongue (so they say) still muttering something for
England, he died by the noblest of all sorrows.
Lady Hester, meeting the calamity in her own fierce way, seems to
have scorned the poor island that had not enough of God's grace to
keep the "heaven-sent" Minister alive. I can hardly tell why it
should be, but there is a longing for the East very commonly felt
by proud-hearted people when goaded by sorrow. Lady Hester
Stanhope obeyed this impulse. For some time, I believe, she was at
Constantinople, where her magnificence and near alliance to the
late Minister gained her great influence. Afterwards she passed
into Syria.
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