It was only statesmen like Fox who had unconfused perception, and inveighed against the stupidity of ministers acclaimed by an ignorant public as demigods. Napoleon's starting-points were to "Surmount great obstacles and attain great ends. There must be prudence, wisdom, and dexterity." "We should," he said, "do everything by reason and calculation, estimating the trouble, the sacrifice, and the pleasure entailed in gaining a certain end, in the same way as we work out any sum in arithmetic by addition and subtraction. But reason and logic should be the guiding principle in all we do. That which is bad in politics, even though in strict accordance with law, is inexcusable unless absolutely necessary, and whatever goes beyond that is criminal." These were briefly the general principles on which he shaped his ends, and they are pretty safe guides. His mentality, as I have said, was so complete that it covered every subtle and charming form of thought and knowledge, even to the smallest affairs of life. No theologians knew more than he or could converse so clearly on the many different religions; and he was as well versed in the intricacies of finance and civil law as he was in the knowledge of art, literature, and statecraft.
His memory was prodigious, and a common saying of his was that "A head without a memory was like a fort without a garrison." He never used a word that was not full of meaning. The unparalleled amount of literature that surrounds his name teems with concise, vivid sentences on every conceivable subject, and the more they are read and studied, the more wonderful appears their wisdom. On the eve of a great battle, his exhortations to his soldiers were like magic, burning hot into their souls, making them irresistible. The popular idea in the country in his time, when passion ran rampant, and indeed, in a hazy way, affects some people's minds now, was that he and his family were mere perfidious Corsicans without mental endowments or character, and unworthy of the stations in life in which his genius had placed them. His sisters have been caricatured as having the manners of the kitchen, and loose morals, and his brothers as mediocrities. A great deal of the same stuff is now written about other people who have occupied and do occupy high stations in life.
Here is Napoleon's own version of each of his brothers and sisters and of his mother. It was given in course of conversation to Las Cases at St. Helena. "The Emperor," he says, "speaks of his people; of the slight assistance he has received at their hands, and of the trouble they had been to him; he goes on to say that for the rest, we should always, as a last resort, endeavour to form a judgment by analogy. What family, in similar circumstances, would have done better? And, after all, does not mine furnish, on the whole, a record which does me honour? Joseph would be an ornament to society wherever he might happen to reside; Lucien, an ornament to any political assembly; Jerome, had he come to years of discretion, would have made an excellent ruler; I had great hopes of him. Louis would have been popular, and a remarkable man anywhere. My sister Elisa had a man's intellect, a brave heart, and she would have met adversity philosophically. Caroline is a very clever and capable woman. Pauline, perhaps the most beautiful woman of her day, has been, and will be until the end, the most charming creature living. As for my mother, she is worthy of every respect. What family as numerous could make a finer impression?"
If unprejudiced history counts for anything, this testimony is true, and it is doubtful whether any of the ruling families of France who preceded them, or even those of other countries, who took part in bringing about their downfall (taking them as a whole), could tabulate a better record of worthiness. Certainly no previous ruler of France ever made the efforts that the head of the Bonaparte family did to fashion his brothers and sisters into filling the positions he had made for them in a way that became princes and princesses.
The fact is, the political mind was whirling and permeated with the idea of his ambition only, and the human aversion to the introduction of new and improved conditions of life. The ruling classes were seized with alarm lest the spirit of the French Revolution would become popular in this country, and that not only their possessions might be confiscated, but that their lives would be in peril if the doctrines he stood for were to take hold of the public imagination. They were afraid, as they are now, of the despotism of democracy, and so they kept the conflict raging for over twenty years. Then came the fall of the greatest genius and most generous warrior-statesman who has ever figured in the world's history; he had staggered creation with his formidable power, and the instruments of his downfall flattered themselves that the day of Divine vengeance had arrived.
III
Only a few short months had elapsed when the indomitable hero, well informed of the Allies' squabbling deliberations, at the seat of Conference over the division of their conquest, and their vindictive intentions towards himself, startled them by the news of his landing and uninterrupted march on Paris, and was everywhere acclaimed by the cheers of the Army and the civilian population. Louis XVIII, whom the conquerors had set on the throne, flew in panic when he heard that the man of destiny was swiftly nearing his palace to take his place again as the idol and chief of a great people. Meanwhile, the Allies had somewhat recovered from their apoplectic dismay, and one and all solemnly resolved to "make war against Napoleon Bonaparte," the disturber of the peace, though he was the welcomed Emperor of the French. It was they who were the disturbers of the peace, and especially Great Britain, who headed the Coalition which was to drench again the Continent with human blood. Napoleon offered to negotiate, and never was there a more humane opportunity given to the nations to settle their affairs in a way that would have assured a lasting peace, but here again the ruling classes, with their usual impudent assumption of power to use the populations for the purpose of killing each other and creating unspeakable suffering in all the hideous phases of warfare, refused to negotiate, and at their bidding soldiers were plunged into the last Napoleonic conflict though many other conflicts have followed in consequence. Nothing so deadly has ever happened. The French were defeated and their Emperor sent to St. Helena with the beneficent Sir Hudson Lowe as his jailer.
What a cynical mockery of a man this creature of Wellington, Castlereagh, and Lord Bathurst was! He carried out their behests, and after the ugly deed of vindictiveness, rage and frenzy had wrought the tragic end, they shielded their wicked act by throwing the guilt on him, and he was hustled off to a distant colony to govern again lest his uneasy spirit should put them in the dock of public opinion. He pleaded with them to employ the law officers of the Crown to bring an action against Doctor Barry O'Meara, whose "Voice from St. Helena" teemed with as dark a story as was ever put in print, in which he and his coadjutors figured as the base contracting parties. And the more he urged that the book was a libel against himself, the more O'Meara demanded that the action against him should be brought, and for very substantial reasons it never was. The Duke of Wellington said of Sir Hudson, "He was a stupid man. A bad choice and totally unfit to take charge of Bonaparte." And the great French Chieftain has left on record his contemptuous opinion of the Duke, as I have already said. "Un homme de peu d'esprit sans générosité, et sans grandeur d'âme." (He was a poor-spirited man without generosity, and without greatness of soul.) "Un homme borné." (A man of limited capacity.) His opinion of Nelson was different, although our Admiral had hammered the French sea power out of existence and helped largely to shatter any hope Napoleon may have had of bringing the struggle on land to a successful conclusion.
But these tragic happenings did not bring repose to the nations. Pitt died in 1806, so he missed seeing the fulfilment of his great though mistaken ambition. Who can doubt, as I have said, that the lack of diplomatic genius in preventing the spreading of the Napoleonic wars has been the means of creating other wars, and especially the greatest of all, in which the whole world is now engaged!
That Napoleon himself was averse to a conflict which would involve all Europe and bring desolation in its train is shown by the following letter, written by his own hand, to George III. How different might the world have been to-day had the letter been received in the same spirit in which it was conceived.