Who does not now begin to see that, notwithstanding his vast power, he never had the choice of his destiny or of his means? that, constantly armed for defence, he retarded his destruction only by a constant succession of new prodigies; that in this terrible conflict he was placed under the necessity of subduing every thing, in order to survive and save the great national cause? Who among you, Englishmen, dreams of denying, above all, this last truth? Has not war for life been often proclaimed among you; and did not your secret allies, in the bottom of their hearts, feel that which your position permitted you to declare aloud? Do you not still boast that you would have carried on the war as long as he maintained himself? Thus every time that he proposed peace to you, whether his offers were sincere, or whether they were not, it was of little importance to you: your decision was fixed. What course then remained for him, and what reproach could be uttered against him, which you yourselves did not already deserve? And who at this day would still pretend to bring forward the vulgar reproach of his ambition? What then has it had so new, so extraordinary, and above all, so exclusive in his person?
Did it stifle sentiment in him, when he said to the illustrious Fox, that in future Europe would be so united by laws, manners, and blood, that there could be no war in it, but civil war?
Was it irresistible, when, describing to us all his useless efforts to prevent the rupture of the treaty of Amiens, he concluded that England, notwithstanding all the advantages of to-day, would, however, have gained more by having adhered to it; that all Europe would have gained by it; that he alone, perhaps, his name and his glory, would have lost by it?
Was it an over-greedy and common ambition, when at Chatillon he preferred the chance of losing a throne to the certainty of possessing it at the price of the glory and independence of the nation?
Was it incapable of alteration, when he has been heard to say, ‘I returned from the Isle of Elba quite another man. They did not think it possible, and they were wrong. I am not a man to do things with a bad grace, or by halves. I would have been at once the monarch of the constitution and of peace?’
Was it insatiable, when, after the victory of which he considered himself certain at Waterloo, his first word to the vanquished was to have been the offer of the treaty of Paris, and a sincere and solid union, which, blending the interests of the two nations, would have insured the empire of the seas to England, and forced the continent to repose?
Was it blind, and without motives, when, after his disaster, passing in review the political consequences which he had so often foreseen, and trembling at the probabilities of the future, he exclaimed, ‘There is no nation, not even the English, who may not one day have to lament their victory at Waterloo?’
And who can now think of reverting to this charge of ambition? It will not be the people, all astonished as they are, at the conduct of those who have overthrown him. Will it be the Sovereigns? They talked of nothing but justice before the battle, but what use have they made of the victory? Let them cease, then, to repeat these odious charges. They might be an excellent pretence; they would be pitiful justifications. Let them content themselves with having conquered!...
But I grow warm. Whither do the force of truth, the warmth of sentiment, the impulse of the heart, carry me? I return to my subject.
Representatives of Great Britain, take this state of things into fresh consideration. Justice, humanity, your honour, your glory, demand it from you. St. Helena is insupportable; Napoleon’s stay there is equivalent to certain and premeditated death; you could not wish to make yourselves responsible for this in the eyes of futurity. Napoleon was, during twenty years, your terrible enemy; he will remind you of Hannibal and of Roman infamy.... You would not stain with such a spot the noble pages of your present history. Save your administration the odious, the horrible, censure of having trafficked with the blood of a prisoner. History furnishes several examples of it. They all excite our horror; and what an increase of dignity would be reserved for Napoleon’s character! For it is easy to predict, when Napoleon shall be no more, when the crime has been accomplished, he will become the man of the people; then he will be only the victim, the martyr, of Kings. The inevitable march of the force of things and of the sentiments of man so wills it. Save our modern annals from such a scandal and its dangerous consequences. Save royalty from its own blindness. Save the most sacred interests of the great Monarchs, in whose name the victim is under execution. Save royal Majesty in the first of its attributes, the most holy of its characters, its inviolability. If kings themselves lay their hands upon the representatives of God on earth, what restraint, what respect, can they intend to oppose to the attempts of the people? There is no prosperity here below, secure from time or from fortune. The circle of vicissitudes envelops all thrones. This cause is the cause of all kings, present and to come. An anointed of the Lord degraded, debased, tortured, immolated, cannot, must not, be other than an object of indignation, of horror for history, of terror for kings!