“I found France rent asunder;
The rich men despots, and the poor, banditti;
Sloth in the mart, and schism in the temple;
Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws
Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths.
I have re-created France, and from the ashes
Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass
Civilization, on her luminous wings,
Soars, phœnix-like, to Jove. What was my art?
Genius, some say; some, fortune; witchcraft, some.