Our readers are not, however, to suppose, that the selfishness of Napoleon was of that ordinary and odious character, which makes men miserly, oppressive, and fraudulent in private life; or which, under milder features, limits their exertions to such enterprises as may contribute to their own individual profit, and closes the heart against feelings of patriotism, or of social benevolence. Napoleon's egotism and love of self was of a far nobler and more elevated kind, though founded on similar motives—just as the wings of the eagle, who soars into the regions of the sun, move on the same principles with those which cannot bear the dunghill fowl over the pales of the poultry-yard.
To explain our meaning, we may add that Napoleon loved France, for France was his own. He studied to confer benefits upon her, for the profit redounded to her emperor, whether she received amended institutions, or enlarged territories. He represented, as he boasted, the People as well as the Sovereign of France; he engrossed in his own person her immunities, her greatness, her glory, and was bound to conduct himself so as to exalt at the same time the emperor and the empire. Still, however, the sovereign and the state might be, and at length actually were, separated; and the egotistical character of Buonaparte could, after that separation, find amusement and interest in the petty scale of Elba, to which his exertions were then limited.[289] Like the magic tent in the Arabian Tales, his faculties could expand to enclose half a world, with all its cares and destinies, or could accommodate themselves to the concerns of a petty rock in the Mediterranean, and his own conveniences when he retreated to its precincts. We believe that while France acknowledged Napoleon as emperor, he would cheerfully have laid down his life for her benefit; but we greatly doubt, if, by merely raising his finger, he could have made her happy under the Bourbons, whether (unless the merit of the action had redounded to his own personal fame) that finger would have been lifted. In a word, his feelings of self-interest were the central point of a circle, the circumference of which may be extended or contracted at pleasure, but the centre itself remains fixed and unchanged.
It is needless to inquire how far this solicitous, and we must add, enlightened attention to his own interest, facilitated Buonaparte's ascent to the supreme power. We daily witness individuals, possessed of a very moderate proportion of parts, who, by intently applying themselves to the prosecution of some particular object, without being drawn aside by the calls of pleasure, the seductions of indolence, or other interruptions, succeed ultimately in attaining the object of their wishes. When, therefore, we conceive the powerful mind of Napoleon, animated by an unbounded vivacity of imagination, and an unconquerable tenacity of purpose, moving forward, without deviation or repose, to the accomplishment of its purpose, which was nothing less than to acquire the dominion of the whole world, we cannot be surprised at the immense height to which he raised himself.
But the egotism which governed his actions,—subject always to the exercise of his excellent sense, and the cultivation of his interest in the public opinion—if in a great measure it favoured the success of his various enterprises, did him in the end much more evil than good; as it instigated his most desperate enterprises, and was the source of his most inexcusable actions.
Moderate politicians will agree, that after the imperial system was substituted for the republican, the chief magistrate ought to have assumed and exerted a considerable strength of authority, in order to maintain that re-establishment of civil order, that protection of the existing state of things, which was necessary to terminate the wild and changeful recurrence of perpetual revolutions. Had Napoleon stopped here, his conduct would have been unblameable and unblamed, unless by the more devoted followers of the House of Bourbon, against whom Providence appeared to most men to have closed the gate of restoration. But his principles of egotism would not be satisfied until he had totally destroyed every vestige of those free institutions which had been acquired by the perils, the blood, the tears of the Revolution, and reduced France, save for the influence of public opinion, to the condition of Constantinople, or of Algiers. If it was a merit to raise up the throne, it was natural that he who did so should himself occupy it; since in ceding it to the Bourbons he must have betrayed those at whose hands he accepted power; but to plunder the nation of their privileges as free-born men, was the act of a parricide. The nation lost, under his successive encroachments, what liberty the ancient government had left them, and all those rights which had been acquired by the Revolution. Political franchises, individual interests, the property of municipalities, the progress of education, of science, of mind and sentiment, all were usurped by the government. France was one immense army, under the absolute authority of a military commander, subject to no control nor responsibility. In that nation so lately agitated by the nightly assembly of thousands of political clubs, no class of citizens under any supposable circumstances, had the right of uniting in the expression of their opinions. Neither in the manners nor in the laws, did there remain any popular means of resisting the errors or abuses of the administration. France resembled the political carcass of Constantinople, without the insubordination of the Pachas, the underhand resistance of the Ulemas, and the frequent and clamorous mutinies of the Janizaries.[290]
Whilst Napoleon destroyed successively every barrier of public liberty—while he built new state prisons, and established a high police, which filled France with spies and jailors—while he took the charge of the press so exclusively into his own hand—his policy at once, and his egotism, led him to undertake those immense public works, of greater or less utility or ornament as the chance might be, but which were sure to be set down as monuments of the Emperor's splendour. The name given him by the working classes, of the General Undertaker, was by no means ill bestowed; but in what an incalculably greater degree do such works succeed, when raised by the skill and industry of those who propose to improve their capital by the adventure, than when double the expense is employed at the arbitrary will of a despotic sovereign! Yet it had been well if bridges, roads, harbours, and public works, had been the only compensation which Napoleon offered to the people of France for the liberties he took from them. But he poured out to them, and shared with them, to drown all painful and degrading recollections, the intoxicating and fatal draught of military glory and universal domination. To lay the whole universe prostrate at the foot of France, while France, the nation of Camps, should herself have no higher rank than the first of her own Emperor's slaves, was the gigantic project, at which he laboured with such tenacious assiduity. It was the Sisyphæan stone which he rolled so high up the hill, that at length he was crushed under its precipitate recoil.
The main objects of that immense enterprise were such as had been undertaken while his spirit of ambition was at its height; and no one dared, even in his councils, to interfere with the resolutions which he adopted. Had these been less eminently successful, it is possible he might have paused, and perhaps might have preferred the tranquil pursuit of a course which might have rendered one kingdom free and happy, to the subjugation of all Europe. But Napoleon's career of constant and uninterrupted success under the most disadvantageous circumstances, together with his implied belief in his Destiny, conspired, with the extravagant sense of his own importance, to impress him with an idea that he was not "in the roll of common men,"[291] and induced him to venture on the most desperate undertakings, as if animated less by the result of reason than by an internal assurance of success. After great miscarriages, he is said sometimes to have shown a corresponding depression; and thence he resigned four times the charge of his army when he found his situation embarrassing, as if no longer feeling confidence in his own mind, or conceiving he was deserted for the moment by his guardian genius. There were similar alternations, too, according to General Gourgaud's account, in his conversation. At times, he would speak like a deity,[292] at others, in the style of a very ordinary person.
To the egotism of Napoleon, we may also trace the general train of deception which marked his public policy, and, when speaking upon subjects in which his own character was implicated, his private conversation.
In his public capacity, he had so completely prostituted the liberty of the press, that France could know nothing whatever but through Napoleon's own bulletins. The battle of Trafalgar was not hinted at till several months after it had been fought, and then it was totally misrepresented; and so deep and dark was the mantle which covered the events in which the people were most interested, that, on the very evening when the battle of Montmartre was fought, the Moniteur, the chief organ of public intelligence, was occupied in a commentary on nosographie, and a criticism on a drama on the subject of the chaste Susannah.[293] The hiding the truth is only one step to the invention of falsehood, and, as a periodical publisher of news, Napoleon became so eminent for both, that, to "lie like a bulletin," became an adopted expression, not likely soon to lose ground in the French language, and the more disgraceful to Napoleon, that he is well known to have written those official documents in most instances himself.
Even this deceptive system, this plan of alternately keeping the nation in ignorance, or abusing it by falsehood, intimated a sense of respect for public opinion. Men love darkness, because their deeds are evil. Napoleon dared not have submitted to the public an undisguised statement of his perfidious and treacherous attacks upon Spain, than which a more gross breach of general good faith and existing treaties could scarce have been conceived. Nor would he have chosen to plead at the public bar, the policy of his continental system, adopted in total ignorance of the maxims of political economy, and the consequences of which were, first, to cause general distress, and then to encourage universal resistance against the French yoke throughout the whole continent of Europe. Nor is it more likely that, could the public have had the power of forming a previous judgment upon the probable event of the Russian campaign, that rash enterprise would ever have had an existence. In silencing the voice of the wise and good, the able and patriotic, and communicating only with such counsellors as were the echoes of his own inclinations, Napoleon, like Lear,