which proved him to be also a wise statesman and law-giver.
The kings and nobles of Europe always hated Napoleon. They said he was vulgar, and called him “the Corsican upstart.” But the French people loved him as one of themselves. No general or emperor ever had more devoted followers than Napoleon Bonaparte. Millions of men gave their lives willingly to fight his battles. He waged war after war till there were but few fighting men left in France. Then the people began to think that Napoleon loved them because they could help him win victories to give him more power and fulfill his high ambition. They began to say among themselves, “He is sacrificing us for his own glory.” While at the height of his power, Napoleon exclaimed, “What are a million lives to a man like me!”
When the people lost their faith in him, Napoleon began to lose instead of win his battles. Generals and nobles stopped flattering him and began to fight him. His own brothers and sisters, whom he had made kings and queens, deserted him. Even his wife forsook him, taking with her his only son, the idol of his heart.
Napoleon’s last battle was at Waterloo, in Belgium. Because this loss brought ruin to him, the name of the place became a kind of proverb. When overwhelming defeat comes to a great man, people say, “He has met his Waterloo!”
The conquered conqueror was taken prisoner and sent thousands of miles away as a captive to the bleak island of St. Helena. He made the best of his hard lot as “the fortunes of war.” But the years of loneliness endured by this friendless conqueror, who all his life had been selfish and merciless, are suggested by a well-known picture, which shows Napoleon on the shore of that far-off rock in the southern sea, standing with hands clasped behind him, looking off across the ocean to where France lay.
NELSON, THE HERO OF TRAFALGAR
A SMALL English boy strayed away from his grandmother’s house after she had warned him that gypsies encamped near by might carry him off. When the old lady found the little fellow sitting beside a stream too wide for him to cross, she exclaimed:
“Why did you run away, Horatio? I was half dead with fear—”
“Fear!” demanded the little lad, still in petticoats. “What is that? I never saw a fear.”