“You owe all the evils which overwhelm you to one man, to him who every year, by the conscription, decimates your families. Who amongst us has not lost a brother, a son, relatives, friends? And why have all these brave men fallen? For him alone, and not for the country. In what cause have they fallen? They have been immolated to the mad ambition of leaving behind him the name of the most dreadful oppressor that ever weighed on the human race.... It is he that has closed against us the seas of the two worlds. To him we are indebted for the hatred of the people of all nations, without having deserved it; for, like them, we have been the unhappy victims as well as the sad instruments of his madness. What matters it that he has sacrificed but few to his private hatred, if he has sacrificed France,—we should not say, France only, but all Europe, to his boundless ambition? Look at the vast continent of Europe, everywhere strewed with the mingled bones of Frenchmen, and people with whom we had no disputes, no causes of mutual hatred, who were too distant from us to have any cause of quarrel, but whom he precipitated into all the horrors of war, solely that the earth might be filled with the noise of his name. Why boast of his past victories? What good have those dreadful triumphs brought us? The hatred of other nations, the tears of our families, our daughters forced to remain unmarried, our matrons plunged into premature widowhood, the despair of fathers and mothers, to whom there remains, out of a numerous progeny, but the hand of an infant to close their eyes: behold! these are the results of all those victories, which have brought foreign armies within our very walls.... In the name of our most sacred duties, we abjure all obedience to the usurper; we return to our legitimate rulers.”
“How just,” adds a French historian, “are these accusations, although they were made by men who a little before had been prodigal of flattery and incense to the author of all these public calamities[92]!”
With such a man as Napoleon is here described, whose towering military genius no one can call in question, and whose influence had so long, and so fatally fascinated the gallant French people, whose eyes were at length opened to the real character of his rule, it must not be wondered at, that we went to war; nor should our triumph over him ever be regarded as a triumph over the French nation: between that high-minded people and the rest of the civilized world, may the peace, which is already of unexampled duration, and which we bought so dearly, continue forever!
I may here present to the reader the sentiments of a noble and distinguished writer, who had long been near Napoleon and had closely watched his career. On hearing of his arrival at St.-Helena, this French statesman and scholar gave the following commentary to the world. No one who is acquainted with the writings of Chateaubriand will suspect him of any bias towards the British character: yet he wrote thus of our vanquished foe:
“The bloody drama of Europe is concluded, and the great tragedian, who for twenty years has made the earth his theatre, and set the world in tears, has left the stage for ever! He lifted the curtain with his sword, and filled the scenes with slaughter. His part was invented by himself, and was terribly unique. Never was there so ambitious, so restless a spirit; never so daring, so fortunate a soldier. His aim was universal dominion, and he gazed at it steadfastly with the eye of the eagle, and the appetite of the vulture.
“He combined within himself all the elements of terror, nerve, malice and intellect; a heart that never trembled, a mind that never wavered from its purpose. The greatness of his plans defied speculation, and the rapidity of their execution outstripped prophecy. Civilized nations were the victims of his arts, and savages could not withstand his warfare. Sceptres crumbled in his grasp, and liberty withered in his presence. The Almighty appeared to have intrusted to him the destinies of the globe, and he used them to destroy. He shrouded the sun with the clouds of battle, and unveiled the night with his fires. His march reversed the course of nature: the flowers of the spring perished, the fruits of autumn fell; for his track was cold, and cheerless, and desolate, like the withering, wintry blast. Amid all the physical, moral and political changes which he produced, he was still the same. Always ambitious, always inexorable; no compassion assuaged, no remorse deterred, no dangers alarmed him. Like the barbarians, he conquered Italy, and rolling back to its source the deluge that overwhelmed Rome, he proved himself the Attila of the West. With Hannibal, he crossed the Alps in triumph; Africa beheld in him a second Scipio, and standing on the Pyramids of Egypt, he looked down on the fame of Alexander. He fought the Scythian in his cave, and the unconquered Arab fled before him. He won, and divided, and ruled nearly all modern Europe. It became a large French province, where foreign kings still reigned by courtesy, or mourned in chains. The Roman pontiff was his prisoner, and he claimed dominion over the altar with the God of hosts. Even his name inspired universal terror, and the obscurity of his designs rendered him awfully mysterious. The navy of Great Britain watched him with the eye of Argus, and her coast was lined with soldiers who slept on their arms. He made war before he declared it; and peace was with him a signal for hostilities. His friends were the first whom he assailed, and his allies he selected to plunder. There was a singular opposition between his alleged motives and his conduct. He would have enslaved the land to make the ocean free, and he wanted only power to enslave both.
“If he was arrogant, his unparalleled successes must excuse him. Who could endure the giddiness of such a mountain elevation? Who, that amid the slaughter of millions had escaped unhurt, would not suppose, that a deity had lent him armour, like Achilles? Who, that had risen from such obscurity, overcame such mighty obstacles, vanquished so many monarchs, won such extensive empires, and enjoyed so absolute a sway? Who, in the fulness of unequalled power and in the pride of exulting ambition, would not believe himself the favourite of Heaven?
“He received the tribute of fear, and love, and admiration. The weight of the chains which he imposed on France was forgotten in their splendour: it was glorious to follow him, even as a conscript. The arts became servile in his praise; and genius divided with him her immortal honours. For it is mind alone that can triumph over time. Letters, only, yield permanent renown.
“This blood-stained soldier adorned his throne with the trophies of art, and made Paris the seat of taste as well as of power. There, the old and the new world met and conversed; there, Time was seen robbed of his scythe, lingering among beauties which he could not destroy; there, the heroes and sages of every age mingled in splendid alliance, and joined in the march of fame. They will appeal to posterity to mitigate the sentence which humanity claims against the tyrant Bonaparte. Awful indeed will be that sentence; but when will posterity be a disinterested tribunal? When will the time arrive that Europe shall have put off mourning for his crimes? In what distant recess of futurity will the memory of Moskow sleep? When will Jena, Gerona, and Austerlitz, when will Jaffa, Corunna, and Waterloo be named without tears of anguish and vows of retribution? Earth can never forget, man can never forgive them.
“Let him live, if he can endure life, divested of his crown, without an army, and almost without a follower. Let him live, he who never spared his friends, if he can withstand the humiliation of owing his life to an enemy. Let him live, and listen to the voice of conscience. He can no longer drown it in the clamorous report of war. No cuirass guards his bosom from the arrows of remorse. Now that the cares of state have ceased to distract his thoughts, let him reflect on his miserable self; and, with the map before him, retrace his bloody career. Alas! his life is a picture of ruin, and the light that displays it is the funeral torch of nations. It exhibits one mighty sepulchre, crowded with the mangled victims of murderous ambition. Let him reflect on his enormous abuse of power, on his violated faith, and shameless disregard of all law and justice.