To what peculiar talent, quality, or skill he was indebted for his happy career has always been an open question; nor is it yet completely solved. Sir Henry does not undertake to discuss the problem, although he must entertain an opinion on the subject. But it is much better that he declined to propound any theory of his own; for in doing so the readers of his book would have misgivings that he tampered with some facts, or suppressed others altogether, in order to maintain it. His work in its present shape invites confidence, imports greater accuracy, and imparts additional satisfaction. No one can distrust his historical integrity, or doubt the extent of his inquiries and research in an honest endeavor to enlighten the public, or fail to appreciate the information obtained. It is a decided accession to biographical literature.
Nor are the opinions of the author, interspersed through the pages, the least interesting part of his performance; for these opinions on the mighty men and events of the period to which he refers may be taken as a reflex of the sentiments now current in the continental diplomatic corps, of which Sir Henry is an old and constant member of high standing. In his expositions, it is entertaining to compare the slow, lagging judgment of Europe on those times with American impressions, which are far more correct, enlightened, and advanced. The great idol which the foreign diplomatic community adores is success: Paris is its peculiar shrine; and Parisian society are fellow-worshippers. But, until success is attained and established, their fetich image is only one in the rough, to be hewed and hacked as cheap lumber. Napoleon and Talleyrand, during the long wars of the consulate and empire, were not deemed by neighboring states as much better than misshapen monsters of the human species: while the brilliancy of their achievements was dazzling the sight, bewildering the imagination, and extorting applause or admiration on this side of the Atlantic.
When the sanguinary contest closed in Europe, the exhibition of its continuous blaze of glory had lost much of its novelty in America; the ardor of our people commenced to cool down; they began to make a more dispassionate, and, consequently, a more rational estimate of their late heroes. This examination in some of its aspects was not favorable to the character of the republicans and of Napoleon. His genius, indeed, could not be denied; his deeds were marvellous; the splendor of his course had never been surpassed in ancient or modern ages; his individual or personal popularity was not in the least impaired. But on the whole, had his life been a blessing or otherwise to mankind? Had it been beneficial or injurious to progress? Had he or the preceding government of the Convention in the Reign of Terror promoted the welfare of France? Reluctantly but surely the American mind came to the conviction that the wars of the emperor had been as useless as they were prodigal of life, more desolating than the bloody guillotine worked by Robespierre. That decision will not soon be reversed; in all probability it will be confirmed and strengthened by time. On the eastern continent, however, this stage of enlightenment has not been reached by the mass of the intelligent population; but they are coming up to it. Napoleon as the scourge had there to be withdrawn, before he could reappear transformed into a hero, and from a hero into a great beneficent political being. His wars were there pronounced productive of good, as a destructive fire that had consumed the vermin of class abuses; that had extirpated the noxious weeds strangling civilization, which could not be eradicated by peaceful means; that the Reign of Terror had been a terrible tempest, to be sure, but a tempest, nevertheless, which, in the oratorical figure of Lord Erskine, had driven away pestilence and purified the atmosphere. At this point European sentiment now stands.
In republican America, the next stride will be still in the advance to the further conclusion, that Napoleon, in his martial policy, evinced only the cold-blooded, inordinately selfish despot, whose love of country was centred in self-love, whose patriotism for the State was unbounded when he was the State, for which he would sacrifice as much as Louis XIV. in a dazzling reign equally disastrous to the happiness of his subjects. But in Europe, to condemn the warlike propensities of Napoleon, is at the same time to condemn the hostile coalitions that promoted or provoked them. The measures adopted by inimical and rival powers to overthrow the French empire originated in passions and for a purpose fully as absurd and damaging to their own people. Both sides wanted war, without counting the cost, and now both are counting the loss, when war is no longer wanted. The losing figures present the longest columns to contemplative countenances the most elongated. In this showing, the picture is not inviting to monarchical perceptions; they are unwilling to acknowledge the fidelity of the portrait. England was always first in heart and soul in these conspiracies against the peace of Christendom, and England ever since has felt also, both first and last, the evil effects from the heaviest debts to be borne in consequence. Hence the dispiriting consciousness in the best of British circles, that France under Robespierre and Napoleon was matched in its foolishness by England under Pitt and Castlereagh. Something like even-handed retributive justice was meted out to all four: Robespierre attempted self-destruction when the executioner at the guillotine awaited him; Castlereagh cut his own throat; Pitt pined away and died as he closed the map of Europe with his finger pointing to the fatal field of Austerlitz; Napoleon lingered out a miserable life on a barren rock. The administrations of these men are now understood in the American republic, and have received the American condemnation. Talleyrand was an inferior personage to them in power, but only one degree less; he was the greatest in importance, and in position of the second grade. He is not so well comprehended. They did not know, until now, he had said to Montalvert:
"You have a prejudice against me, because your father was an imperialist, and you think I deserted the emperor. I have never kept fealty to any one longer than he has been obedient to common sense. But if you judge all my actions by this rule, you will find that I have been eminently consistent." (P. 408.)
The cause of his success was generally found in his strict adherence to the maxim that
"The thoughts of the greatest number of intelligent persons in any time or country are sure, with a few more or less fluctuations, to become in the end the public opinion of their age or community." (P. 442.)
He profited by this experience and knowledge; he understood men; he consulted public opinion, and followed it.
For these revelations and for these reasons, every line in the volume of Sir Henry Lytton Bulwer attracts attention and invites scrutiny. Sir Henry's style, turn of thought, opinions, even his words, must be weighed and studied, not only to gather the import of their meaning, but the exact shade of meaning. In this critical examination, it will be discovered Sir Henry adheres to no fixed method or standard of composition. Sometimes he is easy, smooth, and flowing as Joseph Addison; again he is terse as Dean Swift; sometimes he is turgid and rambling as a plenipotentiary who has particular instructions to communicate nothing in very verbose sentences long drawn out, wherein he is neither choice in his language nor correct in the common rules of grammar. Now, diplomacy admits of all these varieties of writing, and Sir Henry tries them all. No pent-up uniformity contracts the powers of his rhetoric or vocabulary. In one paragraph he exercises the precision of an algebraic formula; in another he wanders astray in the collocation of phrases with unguarded looseness. For him to write in his vernacular idiom must be something of an effort, although he can write well when on his good behavior; but it is evident he thinks in French. His ideas, thoughts, and some of his opinions and principles have consequently a Gallic tinge, and read like a translation; while others, if more cosmopolitan, are limited to the tone pervading the diplomatic circle; and diplomatists have among themselves a professional cant or set of political dogmas, which in a class less polished and select would be mistaken for a species of slang.