Napoleon’s destiny has been the first, the most astonishing in history. He is the man of renown, of prodigies; the hero of ages. His name is in every mouth; his actions excite every imagination; his career remains without a parallel. When Cæsar meditated the seizure of the sovereign power in his country, Cæsar was already the first man in it, by his birth and his riches; when Alexander undertook to subjugate Asia, Alexander was a king, and the son of a king who had paved the way for his successes: but Napoleon, rushing from the crowd to govern the world, presents himself alone without any other auxiliary than his genius. His first steps in his career are so many miracles; he immediately covers himself with immortal laurels, and reigns from that instant over every mind: the idol of his soldiers, whose glory he has raised to the skies—the hope of his country, which, in her pangs already feels that he will be her liberator; and this expectation is not disappointed. At her expiring voice, Napoleon, interrupting his mysterious destinies, hastens from the banks of the Nile; traverses the seas, at the risk of his liberty and of his reputation; and lands alone upon the French shore. Every heart leaps at seeing him again. Acclamations, public rejoicing, and triumph attend him into the capital. At sight of him the different factions droop, parties blend themselves into one; he rules, and the revolution is chained.
The mere weight of opinion, the influence of one single man, effected every thing. He had no occasion to fight; not one drop of blood was shed. Nor was this the only time that such a prodigy distinguished his life.
At his voice, the principles of disorganization vanish; wounds are closed; stains are effaced. Creation seems once more to issue from chaos.
All the revolutionary follies disappear; grand and noble truths alone remain. Napoleon knows no party; no prejudice attaches to his administration. All opinions, all sects, all talents, form themselves in a group about him; a new order of things commences.
The nation recovers breath, and blesses him; the people of other states admire him; kings respect him; every one is happy,—every one fells himself once more honoured in being a Frenchman.
Shortly, he is raised to the throne; he becomes Emperor. Every one knows the rest. Every one knows with what lustre, with what power, he dignified his crown. A sovereign by the choice of the people, consecrated by the head of religion, sanctioned by the hand of victory, what chief of a dynasty ever united titles so powerful, so noble, so pure? Let them be examined.
All the Sovereigns were allied to him by blood or treaties. All nations acknowledged him. Englishmen, if you alone are an exception, that exception only belongs to your policy; it was only a matter of form. Moreover, you are precisely those who have seen in Napoleon the most sacred, the most indisputable titles. Other powers may perhaps have yielded to necessity. You, you have done nothing but submit to principles, to your conviction, to the truth; for such are your doctrines that Napoleon, four times elected by a great nation, must necessarily, in spite of your public denials, have found himself a sovereign in the bottom of your hearts. Look into your consciences!... Now, Napoleon has lost nothing but his throne; a reverse has snatched it from him; success would have fixed it with him for ever. He has seen eleven hundred thousand men march against him. Their generals, their sovereigns, have every where proclaimed that his person was their sole object. What a destiny! He fell; but he lost only power: all his august attributes remain and command the respect of mankind.
A thousand recollections of glory still crown him; misfortune renders him sacred, and, in this state of things, the man of real feeling does not hesitate to consider him more venerable upon his rock than at the head of six hundred thousand men, imposing laws.
Such are his claims.
In vain would narrow minds, or perfidious hearts, attempt to charge him, as is the custom, with being the offensive cause of all the evils, of all the troubles, of which we have been the witnesses or the victims. The time of libels is past, the truth must have its turn. Already the clouds of falsehood are clearing up before the sun of futurity. A time will come when the world will render him complete justice; for passions die with contemporaries; but actions live with posterity, which has no bounds. Then it will be said that the great actions, the great benefits, came from him; that the evils were those of time and fate.