Recal Napoleon among you; let him come to find repose under the protection of your laws; that they may enjoy his distinguished homage. Do not deprive them of their noblest triumph. And who will prevent you?
Will it be your first decision? But, in recalling it, you would shew to every eye that you were only then guided by the force of circumstances, the law of necessity.
Will it be your domestic repose? But the thought of that would be foolish; the doubt an injury, an outrage, to your institutions, to your manners, to your whole population.
Will it be the safety of Europe? But truths of circumstance have their day, and it belongs only to the vulgar to perpetuate them, to bring them forward long after they cease to exist. Napoleon, in his omnipotence, might be the terror of Europe; reduced to his single person, he can no longer be any thing but an object of astonishment and meditation. And, in truth, what could he effect at this day, even with power, against the safety of Russia, that of Austria, of Prussia, or your own?
Finally, can there be any fear of his secret intentions? But Napoleon now has no wish but for repose. In his own eyes, in his own mouth, his wonderful career has already all the distance of ages. He no longer considers himself of this world; his destinies are accomplished. A soul of such elevated power is of no value but to lead to celebrity, to glory. And what mortal has accumulated more of these? Does not the measure seem above the imagination of man? Have not even his reverses been abundant sources of glory to him? Does there exist any thing to be compared with the return from the Isle of Elba? And, more lately, what an apotheosis is his; the regrets of a great nation. A great number among you have traversed our provinces, penetrated to our fire-sides; you know our secrets, our sentiments. If the country was less dear to him than glory, what has he to desire after what he has left behind? His advanced age, his lost health, his disgust at the vicissitudes of life, perhaps that which he feels for men, the satiety, above all, of the great objects pursued here below, leave him nothing new or desirable but a tranquil asylum, a happy and sweet repose. He demands them from you, Englishmen, and you owe them to the heroic magnanimity with which he gave you the preference over all his other enemies. Learn, dare, will to be just. Recal him, and you will have secured the only glory which seems to be wanting in your present condition. The admirers, the real friends, of your liberties and of your laws expect this of you; they demand it. You have baffled those who delight in boasting of all the benefits that flow from your noble constitution.
‘Where, then,’ say their adversaries, with a triumphant irony, ‘is that generosity, that elevation of sentiment, that inflexibility of principle, that public morality, that force of opinion, which you told us distinguished that free people, in some sort superior to the sovereignty itself? Where are the so much vaunted fruits of this classic ground of liberal institutions? All this pompous scaffolding, these imaginary pictures, have then disappeared before the dangers which a single man has created; or rather before the hatred and the vengeance which he has inspired. And what more could that absolute power which we defend, and you decry so much, have done? It would have done less, perhaps, but most assuredly it would not have been able to do more. It would have shewn itself sensible, no doubt, of the noble and magnanimous confidence of its enemy, or, if it had so decided, on the ground of utility, it would, at least have shewn more energy, candour, and elevation in its injustice. It would not have descended to palliate its wrong in the eyes of the people, by associating its neighbours gratuitously in it. It would have avoided above all the leaving itself entangled in this distressing dilemma: Either, when you concluded your iniquitous treaty of ostracism, the victim was not in your power, and you had the cowardice to hold out the hand to him that you might seize him; or, you had him already in your power, and you sacrificed your glory, the honour of your country, the sanctity, the majesty, of your laws to foreign solicitations.’[solicitations.’]
Englishmen, your friends are obliged to turn to you for an answer. They await it.
As for me, in spite of a fatal experience of two years, such is still my confidence in your principles, that I still reckon upon your justice; and I have dared to speak before you, consulting only my own heart, persuaded that it will be in the midst of you that I shall see the defence and the talents worthy of this great and noble cause arise. However you may decide in other respects, my own destinies are fixed. Wherever the victim dwells I wish to go, to devote at his feet the few days that still remain to me;[[36]] and in this tribute of sentiment I shall think I have done nothing but for myself. When I followed him at first, I rather obeyed honour, I followed glory:—but now I bewail, far from him, all the qualities of the heart that attach man to man. How many of your countrymen have approached him! they would all tell you the same thing. Let them be consulted. Englishmen! is this,
then, the man who has been portrayed to you? Have you pronounced upon his fate in full possession of the case?
COUNT DE LAS CASES.