Napoleon is a military fanatic like Achilles, Alexander, Cæsar, Mahomet, Zingis, Kouli, Charles XII., &c. The maxim and principle of all of them was the same: "Jura negat sibi lata, nihil non arrogat armis."
But is it strict to call him an usurper? Was not his elevation to the empire of France as legitimate and authentic a national act as that of William the III., or the House of Hanover to the throne of the three kingdoms? or as the election of Washington to the command of our army, or to the chair of the States?
Human nature, in no form of it, ever could bear prosperity. That peculiar tribe of men called conquerors, more remarkably than any other, have been swelled with vanity by any series of victories.
Napoleon won so many mighty battles in such quick succession, and for so long a time, that it was no wonder his brain became completely intoxicated, and his enterprises rash, extravagant, and mad.
Though France is humbled, Britain is not. Though Bonaparte is banished, a greater tyrant and miser usurper still domineers. John Bull is quite as unfeeling, as unprincipled, more powerful, has shed more blood, than Bonaparte. John, by his money, his intrigues, and arms, by exciting coalition after coalition against him, made him what he was, and, at last, what he is. How shall the tyrant of tyrants be brought low? Aye! there's the rub! I still think Bonaparte great, at least as any of the conquerors. The wonders "of his rise and fall," may be seen in the life of king Theodore, or Pascal Paoli, or Mazionetti, or Jack Cade, or Wat Tyler, or Rienzi, or Dionicus. The only difference is that between miniatures and full-length pictures. The schoolmaster at Corinth was a greater man than the tyrant of Syracuse, upon the principle that he who conquers himself is greater than he who takes a city. Though the ferocious roar of the wounded lion may terrify the hunter with the possibility of another dangerous leap, Bonaparte was shot dead at once by France. He could no longer roar or struggle, growl or paw; he could only gasp the death. I wish that France may not still regret him. But these are speculations in the clouds. I agree with you that the milk of human kindness in the Bourbons, is safer for mankind than the fierce ambition of Napoleon.
The Autocrator appears in an imposing light. Fifty years ago, English writers held up terrible consequences from "thawing out the monstrous northern snake." If Cossacks, and Tartars, and Goths, and Vandals, and Huns, and Riparians, should get a taste of European sweets, what may happen? Could Wellingtons or Bonapartes resist them?
The greatest trait of sagacity that Alexander has yet exhibited to the world, is his courtship of the United States. But whether this is a mature, well-digested policy, or only a transient gleam of thought, still remains to be explained and proved by time.
The refractory siston will not give up the fisheries. Not a man here dares to hint at so base a thought.
I am very glad you have seriously read Plato; and still more rejoiced to find that your reflections upon him so perfectly harmonize with mine. Some thirty years ago I took upon me the severe task of going through all his works. With the help of two Latin translations, and one English and one French translation, and comparing some of the most remarkable passages with the Greek, I labored through the tedious toil. My disappointment was very great, my astonishment was greater, and my disgust shocking. Two things only did I learn from him. 1. That Franklin's ideas of exempting husbandmen, and mariners, &c., from the depredations of war, was borrowed from him. 2. That sneezing is a cure for the hickups. Accordingly, I have cured myself, and all my friends, of that provoking disorder, for thirty years, with a pinch of snuff.
Some parts of some of his dialogues are entertaining like the writings of Rousseau, but his laws and his republic, from which I expected most, disappointed me most.