"There is nothing changed, if the allied powers recur, as we have a right to expect from them, to just and temperate sentiments; if they acknowledge, that the existence of France in a respectable and independent state, as far from conquering as from being conquered, from domineering as from being held in subjection, is necessary to the balance of great realms, as well as to the guaranty of smaller states.
"There is nothing changed, if, not attempting to compel France to resume with a dynasty, which she can no longer desire, the feudal chains she has broken, and to submit to the seigneurial or ecclesiastical pretensions, from which it has emancipated itself, those powers do not attempt to impose on her laws, to interfere in her internal concerns, to assign her a particular form of government, to give her masters suited to the interests and passions of her neighbours.
"There is nothing changed, if, while France is occupied in preparing the new social compact, that shall guaranty the liberty of her citizens, and the triumph of those generous ideas, that prevail in Europe, and can no longer be stifled; she be not compelled, to call off her attention from these pacific ideas, and from the means of domestic prosperity, to which the people and their chief are desirous of devoting themselves in happy concord, in order to prepare for battle.
"There is nothing changed, if, while the French nation demands nothing, but to remain at peace with all Europe, an unjust coalition do not oblige her to defend, as it did in 1792, her will, and her rights, and her independence, and the sovereign of her choice."
This eloquent refutation, full of irrefragable facts, and reasonings not to be refuted, was no longer necessary. French honour had judged and condemned the Congress of Vienna and its Declaration.
When this declaration appeared, France grew pale: she was astonished, affrighted at the calamities, which the future boded; and groaned at the idea of being exposed to a war for the sake of one single man.
This first impression over, her pride, her virtue, felt indignant, that the allies should dare to conceive the thought, that she would yield to their menaces, and cowardly consent, to give Napoleon up to them.
Had Napoleon been no more than a simple citizen, the attempt to violate by authority the rights of men and nations in his person would have been sufficient, to induce the French, or at least all worthy of the name, to think themselves obliged to protect and defend him.
But Napoleon was not merely a simple citizen, he was the head of the French nation: it was for having aggrandized it by his conquests, and ennobled it by his victories, that he was proscribed by foreigners; and the most timid as well as the most generous made it their sacred duty to place him under the safeguard of the nation, and of French honour.
Thus the declaration of the Congress, instead of intimidating France, heightened its courage; instead of separating Napoleon from the French, drew still more close the bands that united them; instead of calling down on his head the public vengeance, rendered him more estimable and more dear in the eyes of the people.