0- '■■' 
 
 31; 
 
 A LECTURE 
 
 Life, Character, and Times of lapoieoD Bonaparte, 
 
 — DELIVERED BY— 
 
 *?" WM. L. ROYALL, 
 
 ^ £fe Richmond (Fa.) Theatre, by request, for the benefit of the Rosemary 
 
 Library, on the evening of April 2-/. i8gi. j 
 
 } M 
 
<*-* 
 
Ladies and Gentlemen : 
 
 There is no secularian who has been so much discussed and 
 written about as Napoleon Bonaparte, and surely he is the most fasci- 
 nating personality that has ever illumined this orb. Distant as we 
 are from his dav, overwhelmed as we are with his literature, there is 
 
 even vet much that we need to know, to estimate his life and time 
 
 
 
 completely. The great military historian, Sir Archibald Allison, who 
 
 should certainly know whatever pertains to war, speaks of "Mar- 
 shal" Junot; Prince Talleyrand, whose fascinating memoirs are just 
 now coming out, speaks of his ever} r -day associate, " Marshal " Junot. 
 Yet Junot was never a marshal of France, and, great soldier that 
 he was, a private reason exists why he was not. At the wells of Mes- 
 soudiah he rashly instilled suspicions of Josephine into Bonaparte's 
 mind. Bourrienne overheard him and fought for the distant culprit. 
 Forgiven and taken back to his bosom, the autocrat never forgave 
 him who had accused her, and thus the Duke d' Abrantes lost the raar- 
 shal's baton. When such persons as these trip and fall over such tri- 
 fling stumbling-blocks as that, are we. seekers after light, to be blamed 
 for finding much that confuses us ? 
 
 Who was this man Napoleon Bonaparte? Let him answer for 
 
 himself. And this is his language: "I am the Revolution," meaning 
 
 ■ 
 thereby to say that he was the outcome, result, and embodiment of 
 
 that furious upheaval that rocked our civilization to and fro and 
 
 shook the pillars of society to their very foundations. To know, 
 
 therefore, who he was, we must know what was the Revolution. Let 
 
 us take a brief glance at that. 
 
We have now the first volume of Talleyrand's memoirs, and let all 
 lovers of literature thank Providence that they have been preserved 
 to us. I quote him : 
 
 "If historians make it a point to seek the men to whom they can 
 award the honor, or address the reproach of having made, directed 
 or modified the French Revolution, the}' will give themselves unneces- 
 sary trouble. It had no authors, leaders, nor guides. It was sown 
 by writers who, in an enlightened and venturesome century, wishing 
 to attack prejudices, subverted the religious and social principles, and 
 by unskilful ministers who increased the deficit in the treasury and the 
 discontent of the people. 
 
 " It would be necessary, in order to find the real origin and causes 
 of the Revolution, to weigh, analyze, and judge questions of high 
 speculative politics, and especially to submit to a profound and skilful 
 examination the question of the struggle between philosophical ideas 
 and prejudices, between the pretensions of mind and those of power. 
 For, if we were to take into consideration only the sole results of that 
 Revolution, we should soon fall into error, and end by mistaking 
 M. de Malesherbes for Mirabeau, and M. de la Rochefoucauld for 
 Robespierre." 
 
 To differ with such an authority on such a point is a daring act, 
 3'et I have the Revolution's (that is Bonaparte's) authority for saying 
 that M. de Talleyrand has attributed a power to names and ar°u- 
 ments that they did not possess. The origin of the Revolution lay 
 deeper down in society than Talleyrand thought. Bonaparte said 
 to Las Cases at St. Helena that the Revolution was a rebellion of the 
 Gauls against the Franks, and that Robespierre, whom we are accus- 
 
tomed to look upon as the personal embodiment of that period of 
 butchery and crime, was by no means the worst man of the Revolu- 
 tion ! — that his private character was measurably good ; that his ac- 
 tions were inspired b} r fanaticism rather than by vice ; and that if any 
 one had offered him a bribe the tempter would have assuredly lost his 
 head. There is much food for thought in these statements; so let us 
 think of them and see what they mean, and thus we shall learn what 
 the Revolution was, and, therefore, what Bonaparte was. 
 
 Anywhere between fifteen hundred and two thousand years ago, 
 that fair land called France lay peacefully enjoying herself, with a 
 large population called Gauls. About that time a body of those blue- 
 eyed, fair-haired men that issued from the forests of Germany to take 
 possession of the world, called and calling themselves ''Franks," 
 bethought themselves to take possession of fair France and occupy it 
 for their own exclusive good. They proceeded to do this, and they did 
 it entirely and exceedingly well. Thev- were not so canny as were 
 their descendants of a few hundred years later, who equally bethought 
 themselves to take possession of England, but who were wise enough 
 in their generation to blend the old population with themselves, and 
 who thereby erected and established the noblest breed of men on 
 earth — a breed that saves us from ruin and forces us into being better 
 men day after day. The Franks selfishly wished to enjoy all France 
 to themselves, and they proceeded to enjoy it as they wished for. 
 The\ r established themselves as the Lords and Barons of the land and 
 turned the Gauls into their hewers of wood and drawei's of water. 
 It would be b\ r no means true to say that they did this by one coup, 
 as the French say. But the case arose of a conqueror and a conquered 
 
people — the conqueror inconsiderately reducing the conquered to a 
 condition of practical serfdom, and social law b} r degrees developed a 
 privileged class of rulers, descended in the main from the conquering 
 Franks; whilst the great body of the people, descended from the 
 down-trodden Gauls, were viewed and treated as machines, created to 
 furnish support and pleasure to their aristocratic masters, the Franks. 
 
 I should justly be accused of wasting time if I gave more than a 
 passing glance at societ}- as the Revolution found it. It was a time 
 when the individual's right to his faculties — physical and mental, to 
 his own brain, to his own eyes, to his own hands and feet — in a word, 
 to his body and soul — were denied. It was the dav of banalities and 
 siegneurs justiciers — the day when the prying eve of government 
 followed the butcher to the shambles and the baker to the oven — 
 when the peasant could not cross a river without pa}'ing some noble- 
 man a toll, nor take his produce to market until he had bought leave 
 to do so — nor consume what remained of his grain until it had been 
 sent to the Lord's mill to be ground — nor marry off his daughter till 
 she had spent a night with the Lord at his chateau — nor full his cloths 
 on his own works — nor sharpen his tools at his own grindstone — nor 
 make oil, wine or cider at his own press. It was a day when the 
 masses groaned under servitude piled up on servitude, which the}' must 
 render, that the Lords might be happy. It was a clay of grief, that 
 turned all the milk of human kindness into gall. It was the day of 
 privilege to the nobleman and of degradation and despair to the 
 people. This is stolen, but none the less true. 
 
 Now, he who studies the Revolution carefully will see that, amidst 
 all its blood and butcheiw,the onecardinal idea pressing the leaders on 
 
was the earnest, fixed determination to rid France of the privileged 
 classes— the nobility and the aristocrats. Doubtless many who were 
 neither fell under the blade of the guillotine, were strangled at night, 
 or drowned by day. But the motif, so to speak— the impulsing cause 
 of that great social upheaval— was the determination of the body 
 politic to rid the country of those who had privileges— of those who 
 had fattened on the people under the name of aristocrats The 
 slaughter of those who were not of them was an incident of the Revo- 
 lution, and by no means its aim. And now we see what Bonaparte 
 meant when he said the Revolution was a rebellion of the Gauls 
 against the Franks, and that Robespierre was not essentially a bad 
 man. He meant that, being part of the movement to destroy the 
 aristocrats, Robespierre was willing to go any length to accomplish 
 that end ; but that end achieved, he would probably have been a citi- 
 zen as reasonable as another. We can now take some of the dimen- 
 sions of this prodigious personality, Napoleon Bonaparte, and learn 
 something of what he meant when he declared, "I am the Revolution.'" 
 
 There remains but one touch to put to the picture, and that shall 
 be put by M. Thiers. Said that great writer : 
 
 "We may be told that he came to perform a mysterious task, 
 imposed without his being aware of it, by Fate, of which he was the 
 involuntary agent. It was not liberty that he came to continue, for 
 that could not yet exist. He came to continue, under monarchical 
 forms, the revolution in the world ; he came to continue it by seating 
 himself, a plebeian, on a throne; by bringing the Pontiff to Paris to 
 anoint a plebeian's brow with the sacred oil ; by creating an aristocracy 
 with plebeians; by obliging the old aristocracies to associate them- 
 
selves with his plebeian aristocracy; by making kings of plebeians; 
 by taking to his bed the daughter of the Caesars and mingling ple- 
 beian blood with the blood of one of the oldest reigning families in 
 Europe; by blending all nations; by introducing the French laws in 
 Germany, in Italy, and in Spain; by dissolving so many spells; by 
 mixing up together and compounding so many things. Such was the 
 immense task he came to perform; and meanwhile the new state 
 of society was to consolidate itself under the protection of his power- 
 ful sword, and liberty was to follow some day." 
 
 This ends the chapter by which I intend to inform you how he 
 came about and what he was. - 
 
 Having determined what he was, let us inquire for a moment what 
 manner of man he was. 
 
 Bourrienne was Napoleon's pla\ r mate, school-fellow, and intimate 
 friend. He was his private secretary, thrown with him as intimately 
 as one man can be with another from 1797 to' 1802. A most Clevel- 
 and accomplished man, Bonaparte detected him in peculations in 
 1801, discarded him, and disgraced him. Bourrienne deserted him 
 and afterwards took service under the Bourbons. He therefore hated 
 Bonaparte with all the fervor of a disgraced man and traitor. He 
 composed his memoirs in 1828, when Bonaparte was no more. He 
 has painted him black enough, yet he says that at the beginning 
 Bonaparte had a feeling heart. I have purposely resorted to this wit- 
 ness in search of whatever good I had to say of him, because he is 
 obviously the most prejudiced witness against him that exists. Never- 
 theless, I say that he did not have a feeling heart, and that he had no 
 heart at all. 
 
In that wonderful book, "A Strange Stoiw," Lord Lytton has 
 drawn us the horrid picture of a man who was all intellect, but with- 
 out heart or soul. This was Bonaparte. Out of the enormous mass 
 of evidence that might be cited to prove my statement let me produce 
 a few instances. Bourrienne has presented a sketch of him, made at 
 the beginning of his career b} r Madame Bourrienne, his wife. I quote 
 from it : 
 
 "I remarked at this period," 1795, "that his character was re- 
 served and frequently gloomy. His smile was hypocritical and often 
 misplaced, and I recollect that a few clays after our return he gave us 
 one of those specimens of savage hilarit\r which I greatly disliked, 
 and which possessed me against him. He was telling us that, being 
 before Toulon, where he commanded the artilleiw, one of his officers 
 was visited by his wife, to whom he had been but a short time mar- 
 ried, and whom he tenderly loved. A few clays after, orders were 
 given for another attack upon the town, in which this officer was to 
 be engaged. His wife came to General Bonaparte, and with tears 
 entreated him to dispense with her husband's services that da}'. The 
 General was inexorable, as he himself tolcl us with a sort of savage 
 exultation. The moment for the attack arrived, and the officer, 
 though a very brave man, as Bonaparte himself assured us, felt a pre- 
 sentiment of his approaching death. He turned pale and trembled. 
 He was stationed beside the General, and, during an interval when the 
 firing from the town was very heav\ r , Bonaparte called out to him, 
 "Take care, there is a shell coming!" The officer, instead of moving 
 to one side, stooped down, and was literally severed in two. Bona- 
 
parte laughed loudly while he described the event with horrible 
 minuteness." 
 
 What is this but a fiend ? 
 
 His nephew, Napoleon the Third and little, has had his letters and 
 dispatches published, from which I make two extracts. One, an order 
 sent General Berthier from Cairo, August 1, 1798, says: 
 
 " General Dumuy will disarm the town of Daivanhour and will cut 
 off the heads of the five chief inhabitants. One amongst the worst men 
 of the law," meaning the most distinguished lawyer, " and four others 
 who have most influence with the population, should be selected." 
 These five citizens had done nothing whatever to cause even their 
 arrest. 
 
 July 31, 1798, he writes General Menon : 
 
 "The Turks can only be kept in order b\ r means of the greatest 
 severitv. Every day I have five or six heads cut off in the streets of 
 Cairo," whether the\- had offended or whether they had not. 
 
 Of what value are comments in the face of these facts? 
 
 Talleyrand was the most capable judge of the time, and for many 
 years he was associated with him on the most intimate terms. The 
 first volume of his memoirs paints him blacker than midnight. Chap- 
 ter IV. begins thus : 
 
 "Napoleon was at Finkenstein and said one day, in a cheerful mo-* 
 ment, 'I know, when necessar}-, how to throw off the skin of the lion 
 and put on that of the fox.' " 
 
 Continuing, says Talle\ T rand : 
 
 "He was fond of deceiving, and would do so for the mere love of 
 
it; apart from his policy, his instinct would have made it a necessity 
 for him." 
 
 We must of course go to contemporary literature to judge him, 
 but there we find ourselves greatly embarrassed. The writers of his 
 dav may be classed under three heads: First, unreasoning adula- 
 tors; second, unreasoning detractors; and third, a few just critics. 
 Amongst the last I place Madame de Remusat at the very top. I do 
 this for three reasons : First, she was one of Josephine's ladies-in- 
 waiting, and therefore saw him and talked with him every daj' ; sec- 
 ond, Chateaubriand has certified that he read her memoirs in manu- 
 script, and he says of them that " Bonaparte is always clearly 
 depicted and impartialh' judged" — Chateaubriand's own words; 
 third, a perusal of them discloses the writer to have had a brilliant 
 and discriminating mind, a candid judgment, and a loving and ten- 
 der heart. I shall complete my sketch of him in her words. She says 
 of him : 
 
 "The intellect of Bonaparte was most remarkable. It would be 
 difficult, I think, to find among men a more powerful or comprehen- 
 sive mind. It owed nothing to education ; for in reality he was igno- 
 rant, reading but little, and that hurriedly. But he quickly siezed 
 upon the little that he learned, and his imagination developed it so 
 extensively that he might easih- have passed for a well-educated man. 
 His intellectual capacitj- seemed to be vast, from the number of sub- 
 jects he could take in and classify without fatigue. With him one idea 
 gave birth to a thousand, and a word would lift his conversation into 
 elevated regions of fancy, in which exact logic did not indeed keep him 
 company, but in which his intellect never failed to shine." 
 
After that tribute we can hardly distrust what she says on the 
 ground of prejudice against him. Let us now see what she has to say 
 of his moral nature. She continues : 
 
 "According to the order I have laid down, I ought now to speak 
 of Bonaparte's heart; but if it were possible to believe that a being, 
 in ever}- other way similar to ourselves, could exist without that por- 
 tion of our organization which makes us desire to love and be loved, I 
 should say that in his creation the heart was left out." 
 
 Again : 
 
 "There was no generosity, no true greatness in him. I have never 
 known him to admire, I have never known him to comprehend a fine 
 action. He always regarded every indication of a good feeling with 
 suspicion ; he did not value sinceiity, and did not hesitate to say that 
 he recognized the superiority of a man by the greater or less degree of 
 cleverness with which he used the art of lying. On the occasion of his 
 saying this, he added, with great complacency, that when he was a 
 child, one of his uncles had predicted that he should govern the world, 
 because he was an habitual liar. 'M. de Metternich,' he added, 
 ' approaches to being a statesman— he lies very well.' " 
 
 Discussing the Spanish muddle with Talleyrand, she reports him 
 as saA'ing : 
 
 "A cowardty act! What does that matter to me? Understand 
 that I should not fail to commit one if it were useful to me. In 
 realitv, there is nothing really noble or base in this world; I have in 
 my character all that can contribute to secure my power, and to 
 deceive those who think they know me. Frankly, I am base, essen- 
 tially base. I give you my word that I should feel no repugnance to 
 
commit what would be called hj the world a dishonorable action ; my 
 secret tendencies, which are, after all, those of nature, opposed to cer- 
 tain affectations of greatness with which I have to adapt myself, give 
 me infinite resources with which to baffle every one. Therefore, all I 
 have to do now is to consider whether your advice agrees with my 
 present policy, and to try and find out besides," he added (says M. de 
 Talle\'rand), with a satanic smile, "whether you have not some pri- 
 vate interest in urging me to take this step." 
 
 Continuing, she says: 
 
 "I have said that Bonaparte was incapable of generosity ; and yet 
 his gifts were immense, and the rewards he bestowed gigantic. But 
 when he paid for a service he made it plain that he expected to bu\ r 
 another, and a vague uneasiness as to the conditions of the bargain 
 always remained. There was also a good deal of caprice 'in his gifts, 
 so that the\- rareh r excited gratitude. Morever, he required that the 
 money he distributed should all be expended, and he rather liked peo- 
 ple to contract debts, because it kept them in a state of dependence. 
 At one time he settled a considerable revenue on M. de Remusat, that 
 we might keep what is called open house and receive a great many 
 foreigners. We were very exact in the first expenses demanded by a 
 great establishment. A little while after, I had the misfortune to lose 
 my mother, and was forced to close 1213- house. The Emperor then 
 rescinded all his gifts, on the ground that we could not keep the 
 engagement we had made, and left us in what was really a position 
 of embarrassment, caused entirely by his fugitive and burdensome 
 gifts." 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, remember, it is not 1 who has painted 
 
him as this fiend — it is those who knew him and were competent 
 to judge. Let me, then, sa\ r what I can to lighten the picture. 
 His supreme intellect is acknowledged b}- all— friends and foes alike. 
 And he had the most useful of all endowments, a determination to 
 succeed. His masterful characteristic was energy — energy of the 
 mind — energ\- of the body. When a thing was to be done he did 
 not know what rest meant. He wrote Josephine from Italy, "I 
 covered sixty leagues yesterday" — 180 miles. A blossom of his 
 energy was his impatience. Riding at a gallop past a cabin, the 
 cur-dog ran out and barked at his heels. One pistol from his holster 
 was fired at him, then the other. Both missed.; he dashed the last 
 one at the dog, drove both spurs into his horse, and ran from that 
 he could not conquer. He cared nothing for news of his success. 
 "Wake me, Bourrienne, when bad news comes, but let me sleep if 
 it is good." He slept at his will. If nothing was to be done, he 
 could sleep twentv-four hours. If work was on hand he never closed 
 his eyes. 
 
 I have read everything that I know of touching this extraordi- 
 nar\ r man, and I can say candidly and frankly, as the result, that I 
 believe the picture of him drawn by Madame de Remusat is his exact 
 and truthful portrait. And what a monster does it present! Can all 
 the gorgeous splendor of his career — can all his almost superhuman 
 intellect — make amends for his absolute want of human sympathy 
 and moral sense? I can frankly say that I regard him as the most 
 detestable character that has ever infested the earth. 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, to take Bonaparte for a theme and yet 
 say nothing of him as a soldier would realh' be showing Hamlet 
 
with Hamlet's part left out. But each of us knows himself so 
 entirely equipped for passing judgment on him as a soldier that I 
 should naturally be sentenced to the place of a very bumptious 
 fellow if I dared venture my opinion of what he knew of war. I 
 shall therefore let him speak for himself of what he thought of that 
 most barbarous art. 
 
 Madame de Remusat overheard and has recorded one of his 
 wonderful declamations on this theme. He said : 
 
 " Militar}' science consists in calculating all the chances accu- 
 rately in the first place, and then in giving accident exactly, almost 
 mathematically, its place in one's calculations. It is upon this point 
 that one must not deceive one's self, and that a decimal more or 
 less may change all. 
 
 "Now, this apportioning of accident and science cannot get into 
 any head except that of a genius, for genius must exist wherever 
 there is a creation ; and assuredly the grandest improvisation of 
 the human mind is the gift of an existence to that which has it 
 not. Accident, hazard, chance, whatever you choose to call it — a 
 mystery to ordinary minds — becomes a reality to superior men. 
 Turenne did not think of it, and so he had nothing but method ; 
 I think," he added with a smile, "I should have beaten him. 
 Conde had a better notion of it than Turenne, but, then, he gave 
 himself up to it with impetuosit\\ Prince Eugene is one of those 
 who understood it best. Henry IV. always put bravery in the 
 place of everything; he only fought actions — he would not have 
 come well out of a pitched battle. Catinat has been cried up chiefly 
 
from the democratic point of view; I have, for my own part, car- 
 ried off victor}- on the spot where he was beaten." 
 
 These are very profound remarks. The idea intended to be con- 
 veyed is this: The commander views a proposed battle from every 
 possible standpoint and makes his plans and combinations accord- 
 ingly. The mere tactician stops at this ; but the real genius for 
 war goes a step further. After having arranged in his plans for all 
 that he intends shall happen, he then makes the just and proper 
 allowance for accident or chance. To illustrate: When the seven 
 days' battles around Richmond came on, General Lee had planned 
 that General Jackson should arrive with his corps on McClellan's 
 right flank on the afternoon of June 27th. Now suppose an unex- 
 pected deluge had so raised the streams between Richmond and the 
 Valle\r that General Jackson was unable to reach Richmond on the 
 day anticipated. Bonaparte means that the true genius would have 
 provided in his plans, as General Lee no doubt did, for just this 
 accident; so that if it did occur he would not have been left with 
 half an army', to be destroyed by McClellan's whole army. This is 
 what he means when he says that Turenne had nothing but method. 
 A further insight into his views is obtained from what a staff officer 
 overheard him muttering the evening before the battle of Moscow. 
 He said: "What is war? A barbarous business; its whole art is 
 nothing but being the stronger at a given point." 
 
 Now, this is Napoleon's idea of the science of war, and, having 
 presented it, I fed sure I shall be excused for omitting my own ideas 
 on the subject. I can at least, however, say this : that our civilization 
 and existence turned on the battle of Waterloo; that at Mt. St. Jean 
 
the decree stood suspended, but finals entered, that the world should 
 be free instead of slave; that the contest, like that of Jupiter and the 
 Giants, was one in which Heaven fought for us and the Demon of Evil 
 fought against us; that if he had triumphed, as, according to all 
 human foresight, he should have done, liberty would have been ended 
 and the Imperial will would have been the law. Recognizing our 
 danger, let us thank Providence for the result, and, on bended knees, 
 bless God that we were saved. 
 
 Viewing, the enormity of Waterloo's result, I believe you will 
 pardon me for pausing a moment here to give its inspiration and 
 theory — and surely the demon's intellect never shone out more resplen- 
 dently than here; and surely the world would have been his slave if 
 Providence had not taken our side. I will show you Waterloo and let 
 you judge for yourselves. 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, at this point I pause for five minutes. 
 Please, all of you, look at the map of Waterloo while I pause Look 
 at Brussels, where the Duke la}', at Ligny, where Blucher lay, and 
 remember that the distance between them is some thirty-five miles, 
 and that Napoleon's headquarters were at Avesnes, some fifty miles 
 off towards Paris. 
 
 Returning from Elba, Napoleon again seated himself on the throne 
 of France on the 20th day of March, 1815. During the seventy days 
 that followed, he busied himself with extraordinary activity and 
 energy- in organizing an army out of the wrecks of the French army 
 that had been left at his first abdication. 
 
 At the beginning of June, 1815, the Duke of Wellington lay at and 
 around Brussels with an English armv and their allies, excluding 
 
Prussians, of 106,000 men. Marshal Blucher la}' at and around 
 Ligny with an army of 117,000—223,000 men in all. Note well that 
 the distance from Ligny to Brussels is about thirty^-five miles. Napo- 
 leon was concentrating bis army, as it formed, in proximity to Aves- 
 nes, its headquarters, distant in the direction of Paris some fifty miles 
 from the allies. You see how rash it was in Wellington and Blucher to 
 leave this gap of thirty-five miles between them, with their adversary- — 
 and such an adversary — eyeing, hawk-like from the flank, the gap 
 between them. It almost cost them both of their armies. 
 
 It was estimated that the allies would be able to put in the field by 
 the first of June 500,000 men. It was therefore all important to 
 Napoleon that he should overwhelm Wellington and Blucher before 
 the distant Russians and Austrians arrived. 
 
 After straining every nerve, he was able to mass for operations, 
 against their 223,000, only 123,000 men ; but, unequal as the contest 
 seemed, the genius of war led the smaller host. Moving silently 
 through a friendly country, before either hostile commander was 
 aware of it, he was between them with his whole army on the road 
 from Ligny to Brussels. Taking his resolutions with the speed of the 
 eagle, he sent Ney to Ouatre Bras with 43,000 men, to keep the Eng- 
 lish back, while with 80,000 he fell upon Blucher at Ligny. His plan 
 was that Ney should drive everything away from Quatre Bras, and, 
 returning just when Blucher was crushed, he should interpose between 
 Blucher and Wavre and force the Prussians into Germany by way of 
 Namur. The plan was brilliant, and but for Providence would have 
 prevailed. Ney's force consisted of two corps, one of which, com- 
 manded by Count D' Erlon, was at Prasnes at 12 M. of the 16th as a 
 
reserve for either place. Ney, with 23,000 men, finding himself heavily 
 engaged at Quatre Bras, sent for D' Erlon to join him. But an over- 
 zealous aide-de-camp, mistaking Napoleon's plans, ordered D' Erlon to 
 move immediately to the Prussian right at Ligny. D' Erlon had just 
 got there and got in position, mystifying Napoleon and arresting his 
 attack on Blucher till he could find out whether D' Erlon was friend or 
 foe, when a messenger arrived from Ney, ordering him to come back at 
 once to Quatre Bras, where he arrived after the fight was over. Napo- 
 leon crushed Blucher, who drew off at nightfall towards Wavre. Now 
 observe what Providence did here. Wellington never got up over 
 20,000 men at any time during the day for the fight at Quatre Bras. 
 Had the staff officer not made his inexcusable blunder and ordered 
 D' Erlon off, Ney would have had his 43,000 men in hand and must 
 have crushed Wellington, in which case he would have been back at 
 Blucher's right before Ligny was over, and would have thus forced 
 him over the river by way of Namur. In this case the two armies 
 would have been hopelessW separated, and Wellington must have 
 been destroj^ed next day. The same result must have followed if 
 D' Erlon had been kept at Blucher's right after he got there. 
 
 Lign}- and Quatre Bras were fought on the 16th day of June. The 
 Duke of Wellington, finding that all hope of uniting with Blucher near 
 Ligny was gone, fell back to Waterloo. Napoleon immediately fol- 
 lowed him, hoping to crush him yet before Blucher could unite with 
 him. Taking 75,000 men, he marched by Quatre Bras towards 
 Waterloo, detaching Marshal Grouchy with 32,000 to follow Blucher. 
 Grouchy's orders were that he should follow Blucher, keeping him 
 
always engaged, and keeping his (Grouchy's) left in touch with Napo- 
 leon's right. 
 
 The terrible struggle at Waterloo took place on the 18th. At 4 
 o'clock in the day it seemed that the English army was about to be 
 destroyed. In the nick of time old Blucher appeared from Wavre, fell 
 on Napoleon's right, and in an hour's time his army was dissolved 
 into a mob. But how could this have ever occurred if Grouchy had 
 performed the part assigned to him ? Blucher's was a defeated army, 
 his a victorious one. Had he fought Blucher -incessantly, even to the 
 point of losing his 32,000 men, he must have kept him away from 
 Waterloo till it was too late for him to do any good. Had he not 
 even done this, but kept his left in touch with Napoleon's right, he 
 would have arrived at Waterloo sooner than Blucher, and cculd have 
 opposed him on Napoleon's right, while he struck Wellington with 
 Napoleon's right. I declare, it does seem to me that Providence took 
 our side, and but for its interposition our civilization would have been 
 lost at Waterloo. 
 
 We should greatly underrate Wellington's peril if we kept before 
 our mind the single fact that he commanded 106,000 men when these 
 actions commenced. He had unfortunately detached 18,000 to Halle, 
 who never got up for the fight ; 5,000 were dead or wounded on the 
 field of Ouatre Bras. He had but 24,000 English, Irish, and Scotch, 
 and 12,000 Brunswickers and Hanoverians— 36,000 in all. The rest 
 of his army were Belgians and Dutch, who, for many reasons, as 
 the event proved, were worth nothing for the fight. So that, in point 
 of fact, with 36,000 men he faced Napoleon with 75,000 veteran 
 soldiers from 11 o'clock in the morning till 1 o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
Whilst we are duly grateful to Providence for the result, we must not 
 forget that noble factor, British valor. When the day ended, a thickly- 
 dotted red line across the field of Waterloo marked the place where 
 these 24,000 devoted men' had stood. The master of war pounded 
 them with three men to one for five hours, but he never pushed them 
 back an inch. Why was this? Lieutenant-General Sir Thomas Pic- 
 ton was fearfully wounded, on the 16th at Ouatre Bras, by a musket 
 ball that broke two of his ribs. Fearing that his commander might 
 force him to go away when the decisive fight came on, he concealed 
 his wound from all save his valet. When, on the 18th, Wellington 
 most needed his heroic example, he fell dead with a bullet in his 
 forehead while keeping his men up to their terrible task. Men like 
 this produced the result. The heroic courage of these Englishmen 
 extorted encomiums even from theirfoe. Said Napoleon in the hottest 
 of the fray : "What brave troops; it is a pity to destroy them." 
 Later in the day he turned to his chief of staff, Soult, and said : 
 "How well these English fight! but the}' must soon give way, don't 
 you think so? " Soult, who had met them in Spain, replied : "I doubt 
 whether the}' will ever give way." "Why?" asked Bonaparte. 
 "They will suffer themselves to be cut to pieces first," was Soult's 
 reply. 
 
 I ask again, why was this? Let Cressy, Poictiers, Agincourt, 
 Blenheim and Waterloo answer; the volatile Frenchman with his 
 absynthe cannot fight the sturdy, beaf-eatiug Englishman, and there 
 I, for one, am content to let it rest. 
 
 In critically viewing the result, w r e must also do Napoleon justice. 
 His genius was all that it had ever been for devising his plans, but 
 
V 
 
his physical health was not what was necessary for putting them 
 into effect. He was a sick man at Waterloo, and much of his energ\- 
 and dash was gone. Farther, he was depressed by the frowns that 
 fortune had cast upon him. Years before he said to Metternich, 
 "you do not know what strength is given by good luck! It, alone, 
 gives courage. It is only by daring that one does anything worth 
 doing, and it is onty from the feeling of good luck that one ever 
 dares anything. Misfortune crushes and blasts one's mind ; thence- 
 forward one does nothing well." A competent critic has observed: 
 "He rode to his last battle conscious of loss of hope of prestige 
 and failing powers. The general who flew from field to field in Italy, 
 who the night before Jena would not rest till he had himself seen the 
 artillery in position, and who multiplied himself in 1814, is not to 
 be recognized in the Waterloo campaign. Wellington triumphed 
 over a great general, but it was not the Napoleon of Rivoli and 
 Austerlitz whom he faced." 
 
 To show how desperateh- Blucher was pressed, let me relate this 
 fact: Field-Marshal Von Blucher, commander of the Prussian armv, 
 found it necessary to charge at the head of five hundred dragoons 
 into the French ranks. His horse was killed under him. He was 
 trampled beyond recognition. "Ah! the old swordsman, we have 
 him at last" (Napoleon's words). By a desperate rally he is recov- 
 ered and is preserved for the eighteen miles of eighteen inches of 
 mud that brought him to the Duke's left at 4 P. M. the 18th day 
 of June, when it was necessary that he should come up or that 
 night should appear. "We cannot get there, but we must; I have 
 promised the Duke that we shall come." 
 
The disturber and destroyer of homes— a loving young man, his 
 brother, named Jerome, sub-officer in the French navy, happens to 
 be with his frigate at Baltimore. He meets and falls in love with 
 the beautiful Miss Patterson; she loves him in return; they marry; 
 eighteen months hence, with her boy in her arms, the}' land in Spain. 
 Shall not love prevail ? No ; my policy must be carried out. This 
 exquisite girl is commanded to go away; Jerome shall be king of 
 Westphalia. In after years he meets his bride in a picture-gallery. 
 They run from each other. The Bonapartes of America are what 
 they are that Jerome shall be a king, confound him. At Waterloo 
 he commanded his division, and did it superbly well; but I shall 
 not forget him for deserting his bride. 
 
 And while we are on this subject, ladies and gentlemen, let us 
 have a word to sa\- concerning "the Old Guard that dies but never 
 surrenders." The Imperial Guard was commanded at Waterloo by 
 a French gentleman named Cambronne, of whom the Iron Duke 
 wrote home, "a drunken ruffian named Cambronne fell into our 
 hands." Napoleon appropriated by his will to this veteran fakir 
 50,000 francs of money he did not possess, and it has always been 
 supposed that his veracious account of the affair was that "the 
 Old Guard dies but never surrenders." 
 
 My excellent friend, Mr. A. Salle' Watkins, has a very charming 
 song called "A Grasshopper Sat on the Sweet Potato Vine," in 
 which the grasshopper gives a very touching account of the manner 
 in which the turkey gobbler gobbled him in. The turkey gobbler 
 also gave his version of the affair, which was materialh r different. 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Halkett, a superb Englishman, who commanded 
 
the first and second brigades of the Hanoverian subsidiary force o r 
 landwehr, which must never be confounded with the German legion 
 in the king's pay, and who faced the Imperial Guard, on being told 
 of its d}dng but never surrendering, pronounced it to be ''damned 
 humbug." Halkett's version of it was, that after the last French 
 advance, broken parties of the Guard, which had already begun to 
 "fall back," in other words to run away, were close to the British 
 advanced skirmishers. Observing a French general rallying his men, 
 and wishing to give encouragement to his (Halkett's) young sol- 
 diers, he put spurs to the powerful English hunter he bestrode, 
 which started off. The French evidently thought that Halkett's 
 horse had bolted. Coming close to Cambronne* Halkett presented 
 a pistol and called on him to surrender, which he promptly did. 
 At the moment Halkett's horse was shot under him, and he saw 
 Cambronne making off towards his men. Getting his horse on its 
 legs again, with a desperate effort, Halkett pursued, caught Cam- 
 bronne b3 r the aiguilette, swung him around and cantered off with him 
 into the British lines— and this is the Old Guard, that sometimes 
 dies but never surrenders. 
 
 It is of course impossible, in the course of an hour's lecture, to do 
 more than hint at the dramatic incidents of this wonderful career, but 
 I must ask you to let me, as a loving task, digress enough to tell you 
 something of Marshal Ney's murder. 
 
 The career of Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France, ended in 
 April, 1814, when he abdicated the throne. The allies who had 
 dethroned him made Louis the XVIIIth king. The King paid no 
 attention whatever to the changed order that the Revolution had 
 
brought about, but started the government and continued it on the 
 theories that prevailed when his predecessor, Louis XVIth lost his 
 head. He continued this sort of reign for ten months, in which time 
 the populace came to understand that "privilege" and "aristocracy" 
 were to be restored, and that they were to be again slaves. They 
 hated the thought of conscription again, but the\^ remembered that 
 the warrior who led them to slaughter also provided for the son who 
 distinguished himself. They "fatigued" of the Bourbons and they 
 wanted Bonaparte. He sat in his eyre at Elba. Seeing what went 
 on, he saw the blunders of the Bourbons and the rising indignation of 
 the people; he saw his chance, and came across into France to dazzle 
 the world again with the hundred days. 
 
 Before his reign ended, Ne}' had held out with loyal devotion to 
 him up to the actual act of abdication, but then he gave in his 
 adhesion to Louis the XVIIIth as the established government, and 
 was taken into the inmost confidence of the Crown. He was sent 
 to the south of France to command the troops that had orders to 
 kill or capture Bonaparte. When these old veterans met their Em- 
 peror, with his breast bared and the cry upon his lips "Will you 
 kill your Emperor?" to a man the\ r declared that they would not 
 fire upon him, and to a man they declared he should be their sove- 
 reign again. He marched up alone, with his coat thrown open, to a 
 regiment under arms, seized an old veteran by the beard and asked 
 him, 'Will 3'ou shoot your Emperor?" The old veteran, his eyes 
 streaming with tears, ran his ramrod down in his gun to show it was 
 not loaded and answered, "See, I could not hurt thee; all the others 
 are the same." Nev tried hard to control his men and to hold them 
 
steadfast to the King's government, but old memories and affections 
 were too strong for him. McDonald had to fly from his command 
 to save his life. There stood Ney, with his command gone; the sove- 
 reign to whom he had sworn allegiance commanded his presence; on 
 every hand a tumultuous populace, cursing and damning a Bourbon 
 dynasty upheld by foreign bayonets, threw their hats in the air and 
 struggled together for the honor of being nearest to their liege lord. 
 Is it surprising that Ney, under the influence of what he saw, should 
 have cast his lot in with the new Revolution ? 
 
 Casuists may and will differ about what his duty was, but, even 
 if he did hesitate and halt respecting a restoration of religion to an 
 infidel but weary France; even if he doubted where mothers, sisters, 
 and daughters pleaded with him to yield, yet will the patriot and 
 true man condone his crime, if crime it be, and a just God will place 
 him amongst those who sinned, if they sinned at all, without know- 
 ledge or design. Through it all we must never forget that this was 
 Marshal Ney— son of a poor cooper, it is true; but marshal and 
 peer of France, Duke of Elchingen and Prince of the Moskowa— 
 exalted honors and titles won by his heroic spirit at the point of 
 the bayonet while Ney was performing his duty, as he understood 
 it, to his country and his God. 
 
 The conspicuous part which Ney bore in the hundred days is 
 too familiar to bear comment. The figure of the heroic Marshal 
 issuing out of Waterloo all blackened and begrimed with powder, 
 five horses killed under him, hatless, and his sword broken in two, 
 is too familiar to be painted again. 
 
The Bourbons called his conduct treason, and ordered him to be 
 tried by a court-martial. Although Ney was a soldier, he was also 
 a citizen and peer of France. He was defended by the two Berryers. 
 Unfortunately for him, they claimed his right to a trial by his 
 peers, and the military court allowed the claim. Tried by soldiers, 
 but one result could have occurred. But tried b} r a body of poli- 
 ticians, over whom the King's patronage exercised the usual sway, 
 Ney was condemned and ordered to be shot. 
 
 A military execution is a thing of supreme importance. Its aim 
 is example. The command is paraded in presence of the condemned, 
 the execution takes place where every eye can rest upon it. The 
 troops are then marched by the dead body, and all that plumed 
 hearse and universal pomp can do to affect the imagination is 
 brought into play. 
 
 The execution of a commander of such high renown as Ney in 
 the presence of a whole army would have been a thing for soldiers 
 to talk of in all time. Were the proprieties of the occasion observed? 
 A small party of gentlemen riding out for pleasure on the morning 
 of December 7, 1815, saw a few soldiers standing near the garden 
 of the Luxembourg. Presently a Eacre drove up and a gentleman 
 dressed plainW in citizen's clothes stepped out. This was Marshal 
 Ney. He took his position in front of the soldiers and folded his 
 arms. When the officer in charge of the firing party saw whom it 
 was he was to murder he became petrified and could not perform 
 his task. Thereupon, one of Ney's judge's, the Duke de la Force, 
 took his place and gave the command to fire. He fell at the first 
 volley — six balls in his body, three in his neck and head, and one in 
 
his arm. When he stood up to receive his sentence and was asked 
 for his name, discarding honors and titles, he replied "Plain Michel 
 Ney, soon to be a handful of dust." Could anything be more 
 pitiable? 
 
 In 1S0S Napoleon had the world at his feet. To say nothing of 
 the wonderful Italian campaign, Egypt, and Marengo, his brow was 
 then garnished by Ulm, Austerlitz, Jena, and Friedland. But, to con- 
 solidate his grip on earth, he wanted the intimate union and alliance 
 of Alexander, Czar of Russia. He captured every one with whom he 
 was brought in contact; why should he not capture the Czar? He 
 determined to do it, and had the meeting between them arranged for 
 the fall at Erfurt. He went there accompanied by every accessory calcu- 
 lated to dazzle the imagination. Great commanders were on his staff, 
 brilliant uniforms shone wherever one looked, and he actually carried 
 the whole of the Paris stage, filled then with such actors as Talma, 
 to exhibit plays that should exalt him. The literati of the world 
 repaired there to see him— even Goethe amongst the rest. Talleyrand 
 has recorded the interview between these two, from which I quote : 
 Napoleon : " Monsieur Goethe, I am delighted to see you." 
 Goethe: "Sire, I see that when your Majesty travels you do not 
 neglect to notice even the most insignificant persons." 
 
 Napoleon : " I know you are Germany's first dramatic poet " 
 Goethe: "Sire, you wrong our country; we are under the impres- 
 sion we have our great men. Schiller, Lessing, and Wieland are surely 
 known to your Majesty." 
 
Napoleon: "I confess I hardly know them. You generally live in 
 Weimar. It is the place where the most celebrated men of German 
 literature meet." 
 
 Goethe: "Sire, they enjoy great protection there; but, for the 
 present, there is only one man in Weimar who is known throughout 
 Europe; it is Wieland." 
 
 Napoleon : "I should be delighted to see Monsieur Wieland." 
 
 Goethe: "If your Majesty will allow me to ask him, I feel certain 
 that he will come here immediately." 
 
 Napoleon : "Write and tell Monsieur Wieland to come here." 
 
 In two days Wieland had come. 
 
 Talleyrand says: 
 
 "I do not know what he wished to obtain from Wieland, but 
 he was particular^ affable with him," and then he reports their 
 conversation word for word — a most charming talk which I have 
 not time to give. In it Napoleon criticised Wieland's theories, and 
 Talkryrand tells us that when he left Wieland was very much discon- 
 certed, by doubting whether he had defended his works as they 
 deserved. 
 
 Erfurt is near to the battle-field of Jena. To do him honor, a 
 hunt was organized to take place on Jena's ground. Afterwards 
 there was a great dinner served on a table in the shape of a horse- 
 shoe, at which were placed only reigning princes. At night there 
 was a ball. Having made the rounds of the room and pausing near 
 some 3 r oung ladies, the names of whom he inquired of Herr Frederick 
 von Muller, the Duke's chamberlain, who had l-eceived orders to 
 accompany him, he retired at a distance from the vast throng and 
 
requested Herr von Muller to fetch Goethe and Wieland. He had 
 to be theatrical or nothing. They came, and Talleyrand has recorded 
 what took place. I quote: 
 
 Napoleon: "You are pleased with our plays, I hope, Monsieur 
 Goethe. Have these gentlemen come to them?" 
 
 Goethe: "To the one of to-da3 r , Sire, but not to those at Erfurt." 
 Napoleon: "ham sorry for it. A good tragedy should be looked 
 upon as the most worthy school for superior men. From a certain 
 point of view it is above histoiw. In the best history very little 
 effect is produced. Man, when alone, is but little affected; men 
 assembled receive the stronger and more lasting impressions. I 
 assure you that Tacitus, the historian, that jon are always quoting, 
 never taught me anything. Could you find a greater, and at times 
 more unjust, detractor of the human race? In the most simple 
 actions he finds criminal motives ; he makes emperors out as the 
 most profound villains, in order to make admiration for the genius 
 that has penetrated them. People are right in saying that his 
 Annals are not a history of the Empire, but an abstract of the 
 prison records of Rome. They are always dealing with accusations, 
 with convicts, and with people who open their veins in their baths. 
 He who speaks incessanth^ of accusations, he is the most notorious 
 informer. What an involved style ! How obscure ! I am not a great 
 Latin scholar, but Tacitus' obscurity display's itself in ten or twelve 
 Italian translations that I have read. I therefore conclude that his 
 chief quality is obscurity— that it springs from that which one calls 
 his genius, as well as from his style, and that it is so connected 
 with his manner of expressing himself only because it is in his con- 
 
ception. I have heard people praise him for the fear he awakes in 
 tyrants; he makes them afraid of the people. That is a great mis- 
 take, and does the people harm. Am I not right, Monsieur Wie- 
 land ? But I am interrupting you. We are not here to speak of 
 Tacitus. Look! how well the Czar Alexander dances." 
 
 "I do not know why we are here, Sire," replied Herr Wieland, 
 "but I know that at this moment your Majesty makes me verv 
 happy." 
 
 " Ah, really ? In what way ? " 
 
 And now hear Wieland's noble defence of Tacitus. It is fitting to 
 be written in letters of gold and framed and hung in everv man's pri- 
 vate apartment : 
 
 "Sire, the manner in which your Majesty' has spoken to me 
 makes me forget that he has two thrones. I see in him only a man 
 of letters, and I know that your Majesty will not disdain that title, 
 for I remember that, on leaving for Eg\ r pt, he signed his letters 
 'Bonaparte, member of the institute and general-in-chief. ' It is then 
 to a man of letters, Sire, that I shall try to reply. I felt, at Erfurt, 
 that I defended myself but feebly when I was the object of your criti- 
 cism ; but I believe I am able to defend Tacitus better. 
 
 " I understand that his principal aim is to punish tyrants — but if 
 he denounces them it is not to their slaves, whose revolt would only 
 bring a change of tyranny ; he denounces them to the justice of ages 
 and to mankind. And the latter ought to have had enough trouble 
 and experience, that its reason should henceforth acquire the rule here- 
 tofore solely enjoyed by its passions." 
 
Napoleon: "That is what all our philosophers say; but that 
 supremac}^ of reason I look all about for and find it nowhere." 
 
 Wieland : "Sire, it is not long since Tacitus began to have so many 
 readers. That hankering for him is a clear progress of the human 
 mind ; for, for centuries he was shut out of the academies as well as 
 from courts. The slaves of taste were quite as much afraid of it as the 
 servants of despotism. It is only since Racine named him the greatest 
 painter of antiquity that your universities and our own have thought 
 this judgment might be true. Your Majesty says that in reading 
 Tacitus 3 r ou see nothing but assassins, informers, and scoundrels; but, 
 Sire, that is exactly what the Roman Empire was, governed by those 
 monsters fallen under Tacitus' pen. The genius of Tacitus traveled 
 the world with the legions of the Republic. The genius of Tacitus 
 must almost always have been applied to the study of the prison 
 records of Rome, for there only could he find all the history of the 
 Empire. It is ever only in prison records," said he, in an animated 
 voice, "that historians can become acquainted with those unhappy 
 times, amongst all nations, when princes and their people, opposed in 
 views and principles, live trembling before each other. Then the slight- 
 est pretext gives rise to criminal trials, and death appears to be in- 
 flicted by centurions and executioners oftenerthan b\ r time and nature. 
 Sire, Suetonius, Dion, and Cassius relate a much greater number of 
 crimes than Tacitus, in a style void of energy, while nothing is more 
 terrible than Tacitus' pen. However, his genius is as impartial as it 
 is inexorable. Whenever he can see any good, even in the monstrous 
 reign of Tiberius, he looks it out, takes hold of it, and shows it off in 
 the bold relief he gives to everything. He can find even praise for that 
 
imbecile Claudius, who was really so only by his nature and bv his 
 dissipation. That impartiality, the most important quality of justice, 
 Tacitus exercises on the most opposite subjects— on the Republic as 
 well as the Empire, on citizens as well as on princes. By the stamp of 
 his genius one could believe he could love only the Republic. One 
 could confirm that opinion by his words on Brutus, Cassius, and 
 Codrus, so deeply engraven in the memory of our youth ; but when he 
 speaks of the Emperors who had so happily reconciled what was 
 thought could not be reconciled— the Empire and liberty— one feels 
 that the art of governing appears to him the most beautiful discovery 
 on earth." 
 
 Talleyrand interjects: "The prince primate, who had approached, 
 and all the little academy of Weimar which surrounded Wieland, 
 could not contain their joy." 
 
 "Sire," Wieland continued, "if it be true to say of Tacitus that 
 tyrants are punished when he paints them, it is still more true to 
 say that good princes are rewarded when he traces their images 
 and presents them to future glory." 
 
 Napoleon: "I have too strong a party to cope with, Monsieur 
 Wieland, and you neglect none of your advantages. I think j^ou 
 knew I did not like Tacitus; do you correspond with Herr von 
 Miiller, whom I saw at Berlin?" This was Johan von Muller, the 
 the great historian. 
 
 Wieland: "Yes, Sire." 
 
 Napoleon: "Confess that he has written to you on the subject 
 of our conversation." 
 
Wieland: "It is true, Sire. It is by him that I knew your 
 Majesty liked to speak of Tacitus, but did not, however, like him." 
 Napoleon: "I do not like to say I am beaten, Monsieur Wie- 
 land ; to that I would consent with difficulty. To-morrow I return 
 to Erfurt, and we shall continue our discussion. I have a good 
 store of weapons in my arsenal for sustaining that Tacitus has not 
 entered far enough into the development of the causes of events; 
 that he has not sufficiently shown the mystery of the actions that 
 he relates, and their mutual linking together in order to prepare the 
 judgment of posterity, which must judge men and governments such 
 as they were in their time and in the midst of the circumstances 
 which surrounded them." 
 
 The Emperor moved off after this, and all the academicians, fear- 
 ing to trust their memory, had already gone to write clown among 
 themselves what they had just heard. Next morning Herr von 
 Miiller was with Talleyrand at 7 o'clock to ask if the onslaught 
 Bonaparte had made on Tacitus, and Wieland's defence of him, was 
 correctly recorded, and they agreed that it was. 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, I have now arrived at the point in this 
 discourse where, according to the plan I have formed in my mind, 
 it is proper to present to you a brief but connected sketch of the 
 public career of this wonderful man. In the limits of an evening's 
 lecture this must of necessity be very brief and hurried, and I must, 
 therefore, solicit your indulgence for its many imperfections. 
 
 As you all know, Bonaparte first demonstrated his genius for war 
 as a major of artillery at the siege of Toulon, where, by the way, he 
 received the only wound— a bayonet thrust in the thigh— that he is 
 
ever known to have received, except a trifling abrasion on the heel from 
 a spent bullet, in after years. The reputation as a soldier he made 
 here caused him to be called on by the miserable and weak Directory 
 to defend them from one of the customary revolutions of the Paris 
 mob. He defended them, killed many Frenchmen, and came to be 
 thought a hero. 
 
 Wedding Josephine Beauharnais shortly thereafter, who was inti- 
 mate with the family of Director Barras, he was appointed through 
 her influence, at the age of twenty-six, General-in-Chief of the army of 
 Italy. This meant that Austria and Fiance had been at war for four 
 years, with Itah^ as their battle-field ; that Austria had pretty well 
 frazzled out the French forces there; and that the so-called French 
 army of Italy consisted of 35,000 half-starved, naked, shoeless French- 
 men, crouching in the fastnesses of the Alps, and confronted by 60,000 
 superb, well-drilled, fully-equipped Austrians with their allies. 
 
 Of course, the old soldiers of the army of Italy murmured and 
 grumbled when the bo} r -general, of whom few of them had ever 
 heard, came to take supreme command of them. It took very few 
 hours of his presence, however, to inform them all that a master 
 had dropped down amongst them, and he soon had hearty and 
 implicit obedience to his commands. Who shall tell the glories that 
 followed in the next eighteen months? Monte-Notti, Lodi, Kivoli, 
 Areola, will ring in the ears of warriors so long as men bear arms. 
 Never was he able to bring upon the field of battle as many as 
 60,000 men — often fewer than 20,000; yet, in that short space he 
 killed and wounded 50,000 men, took 150,000 — not militia, but the 
 superb regulars of Austria — prisoners, captured 170 standards, 550 
 
siege guns, 600 pieces of field artillery, and ended the war with the 
 treat3' of Campo-Formio, under which the proud Emperor of Aus- 
 tria humbled himself in the dust before the hated Republic of France. 
 01 course I can do no more than give a hurried glance at these 
 great events, but one incident I must not pass. He soon fought 
 the battle at the bridge of Lodi, of which he always spoke as 
 " that terrible passage of Lodi." His soldiers had begun to find him 
 out, and used to hold meetings, at which they would promote him 
 from one rank to another. After Lodi they made him a corporal, and, 
 though he received many subsequent promotions, Le petit Corporal 
 will stick* to him while time lasts. He said at St. Helena that it was 
 alter Lodi that his mind opened and he began to see that he was 
 the man of destiny. 
 
 The war being now ended, Bonaparte's occupation was gone. 
 At Paris, the imbecility of the Directory, the selfishness of contend- 
 ing factions, left him nothing to hope for and everything to lose. 
 When Bourrienne would urge him to seize the reins of supreme power, 
 he answered invariably, "the pear is not yet ripe, Bourrienne." His 
 sagacity taught him that France must yet undergo stern trials before 
 she was ready for the man of the day, and that that man must absent 
 himself to a distance whilst the idiots thrashed each other out. 
 
 England, guided by Mr. Pitt, was the Revolution's implacable foe. 
 Playing upon this chord, he persuaded the Directory that Egypt was 
 the place from which to attack England through a raid on India, and 
 received permission to embark and transport a picked army of 40,000 
 men across the Mediterranean to Alexandria. With Lord Nelson's 
 fleet complete master of that sea, was anything so impudent ever 
 
before attempted ? Nevertheless he attempted it, and landed his whole 
 army safely in Egypt and soon overcame the whole country. I cannot 
 pause to comment on what occurred while he was there, further than 
 to hint at the vastness of the designs that he had before his mind. 
 Egypt subdued, he proposed to march around the Mediterranean, free- 
 ing the natives from the hated Turkish rule. The revolutionary cry, 
 " Libert}- and Equality," was to be spread upon every side. By 
 the time he reached Constantinople he was to have an army of 
 300,000 natives, officered by his French soldiers, and armed from the 
 depots of the Turks that he took on the way. Once at Constan- 
 tinople, he would then determine whether he should return to Paris, 
 overthrowing the Austrian Empire on the way, or whether he would 
 bid adieu to Europe and her civilization, and inarch to India, to be 
 supreme ruler of the East. His plans were all thwarted by the obsti- 
 nacy- with which St. Jean D'Acre held out, and by the indomitable 
 pluck of that English sailor, Sir Sidney Smith, and he was forced to 
 march back through the desert to Egypt again. 
 
 Meanwhile war had again broken out between Austria and 
 France, and Austria had wrested from the imbecile Directory all his 
 conquests in Italy. Some stray European newspapers reached him 
 through the English blockade, giving full particulars of the French 
 disasters. He looked up and exclaimed to Bourrienne "the fools have 
 lost Italy — I must return to France." Without any authority for 
 doing so, he turned over the command of the army to Kleber, silently 
 embarked on a small frigate, stole out of the Nile in the night through 
 the English fleet, safely crossed the Mediterranean, and in a few days 
 was in Paris. But a few weeks elapsed before the Directory was over- 
 
thrown and he was King of France, under the title of First Consul. 
 Now let it not be thought that Bonaparte ravished France. He was 
 made their supreme ruler because the French people wanted his strong 
 arm to restore order, suppress civil war, and bring back religion. The 
 people immediately voted upon the question whether he should be 
 made Consul for life, and with practical unanimity they voted that he 
 should be; just as, four years later, when the people voted upon the 
 question whether he should be Emperor, with his descendants to suc- 
 ceed him, they did the same thing. 
 
 His genius was sadly needed, for French affairs abroad could 
 hardly have been in a more deplorable state. The Austrians had 
 pushed the French out of all Italy down to Genoa, where Melas had 
 Massena blocked up and slowly starving in a state of siege. 
 
 Bourrienne tells us that he saw Bonaparte one day hang down on 
 a map of Italy spread out on the floor. Said he : " Do you know where 
 I shall strike Melas ? " " How the devil should I know ? " said Bour- 
 rienne. "I shall strike him there," he said, pointing to a part of 
 Italy that required him to transport his arnn^ across the snow-clad 
 Alps. To accomplish this wonderful feat, in which cannon must be 
 taken from their wheels, put in the trunks of trees, and drawn with 
 ropes up steep ascents, men must climb, single file, over miles of ice- 
 bound hills; Fort Bard, in the way, must be passed in the night, with 
 horses' hoofs bound in hay, lest the noise in passing might arouse the 
 garrison ; all was successfully done. Before Melas knew there was a 
 Frenchman in Italy, and on the day that the heroic Massena was 
 starved into surrendering Genoa, Melas learned that Napoleon was 
 between him and Vienna, and that he had behind him a death-struggle 
 
for his existence. Dispositions for battle were made at Marengo, and 
 at 4 o'clock in the da\r Bonaparte seemed to be so completely 
 destroyed that Melas quit the field of battle and retired for rest. A 
 few days before, an old comrade and apparently intimate friend of 
 Bonaparte, named Boudet, had been killed. Hearing the fact, his sole 
 comment was, "Who the devil shall I get to take Boudet's place?" 
 He had left that superb soldier Dessaix in Egypt Dessaix had got 
 leave and had returned to France, but on landing he heard what was 
 going on in Italy, and instead of going to Paris he went to Italy 
 direct, and arrived at headquarters the day before Marengo. Bona- 
 parte at once gave him Boudet's division. When the panic was at its 
 height, and all seemed lost, Dessaix's division stood like a granite 
 wall. "What do you think of the fight, Dessaix?" "The battle is 
 completely lost; but it is only- 2 o'clock; we have time to gain another 
 to-day." Savary, his aide, rode to Napoleon and told him Dessaix was 
 ready to go in. "Ride," said Napoleon, "to Kellerman, who has five 
 hundred heavy dragoons behind that hill, and tell him as soon as he 
 learns by the firing that Dessaix is heavihy engaged, to charge the Aus- 
 trian flank." Everything worked like oiled machinery. Dessaix and 
 the Austrians met in a furious struggle, and at its climax Kellerman 
 thundered clown upon the Austrian flank. Order disappeared, panic 
 set in, and immediately the Austrian army was a disorganized mob; 
 but superb Dessaix had laid down his life, and it was never known 
 whether the ball that entered his back came from his own men, as he 
 led them to the charge, or from the Austrians as he faced his own 
 men with drawn sword, beckoning them on. 
 
 The war was ended, the peace of Amiens, that pacified the world, 
 
ensued, and grateful France, at once beginning to blossom likethe rose, 
 adored her rescuer and preserver. Oh, what a dav of prosperity and 
 happiness was that! Science strode, the arts were developed, capital 
 increased, manufactories grew up, the fields lay fallow waiting for 
 the seed, and all men rejoiced. But the devil, buttoned up inside of 
 Bonaparte's coat, could not tolerate a continuance of this great 
 contentment to man. There must be war, there must be murder, 
 there must be slaughter, there must be miser}'. He kindled war 
 again and massed a superb army at Boulogne to invade England. 
 Nelson at Trafalgar destro\ r ed his fleet, and England was abandoned. 
 Austria had rashly invited his attack, and Ulm and Austerlitz fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 This is the campaign which provoked the dear old German officer 
 into exclaiming: "He has spoiled the art of war, which had been 
 carried to such an exquisite perfection by Marshal Dauu. In my 
 youth, we used to march and countermarch all the summer without 
 gaining or losing a square league, and then we went into winter 
 
 quarters. And now comes an ignorant, hot-headed young man, who 
 
 ■ 
 flies about from Bovdogne to Ulm, and from Ulm to the middle of 
 
 Moravia, and fights battles in December. The whole system of his 
 tactics is monstrously incorrect." 
 
 I forbear to go over Jena, Friedland, and Wagram, but, master 
 of all the continent save Russia, he fixed his eye upon her and deter- 
 mined that he would contend with even her snows. When his 
 500,000 regulars were on the way to Moscow there was shown a 
 pageant at Dresden that I must take one look at. Abbe' de Pradt, 
 who was there, has described it, and let us hear him : 
 
"Come, you who would form a correct idea of the dominion 
 Napoleon exercised over Europe, who desire to fathom the depth of 
 terror into which the sovereigns of the continent were plunged; 
 come, transport yourselves with me to Dresden, and there contem- 
 plate that mighty chief at the proudest period of his glory— so near 
 to that of his humiliation. 
 
 "The Emperor occupied the principal apartments of the palace. 
 He brought with him almost the whole of his household, and formed 
 a regular establishment. The King of Saxony was nothing. It was 
 constantly at Napoleon's apartments that the sovereigns and their 
 families were assembled, by cards of invitation from the Grand Mar- 
 shal of his palace. Private individuals were sometimes admitted ; I 
 had myself that honor on the day of my appointment to Poland. 
 
 The Emperor had his levee as usual at nine. Then you should have 
 
 
 
 seen in what numbers, with what submissive timidity a crowd of 
 
 ■ 
 potentates— mixed and confounded among the courtiers, and often 
 
 entirely overlooked by them— awaited in fearful expectation the 
 
 moment of appearing before the new arbiter of their destinies! You 
 
 should have heard the frivolous questions the Emperor put to them, 
 
 and the humble answers which they ventured to hazard! What 
 
 Phaedra said of Hippolytus may be justly applied to Napoleon's 
 
 residence at Dresden : 
 
 '"Even at the altars where I seemed to pray, 
 This was the real God of all my vows.' 
 
 "Napoleon was in fact the god of Dresden, the only king among 
 all the kings assembled there— the king of kings. On him all eyes 
 
 39 
 
were turned; in his apartments and around his person were collected 
 the august guests who filled the palace of the King of Saxony. The 
 throng of foreigners, of officers, of courtiers — the arrival of couriers 
 crossing one another in every direction; the mass of people hurrying 
 to the gates of the palace at the least movement of the Emperor, 
 crowding upon his steps, gazing a1 him with an air of mingled 
 admiration and astonishment — the expectation of the future strongly 
 painted in every face, the confidence on one side, the anxiety on the 
 other— all these together presented the vastest and most interesting 
 picture, the most brilliant and dazzling monument ever vet raised to 
 the power of Napoleon! He had now certainly attained the zenith 
 of Ids glory. He might hold his elevated station; but to pass it 
 seemed impossible." 
 
 This was on the way to Russia. Four orfive years before, these 
 same kings had come to Erfurt to humble themselves in the dust 
 before him. Jfear Talleyrand's account of them. He was there and 
 saw each one of them every day : 
 
 Said he: "I have heard the following line, of I know not what 
 wretched tragic play, quoted : 
 
 " ' 'I'n n'a a q'obeir, fcn erai an tyran.' 
 
 "I have not met with a single prince at Erfurt to whom f should 
 
 not have been more justified in saving: 
 
 "'Tii n'as -ii que regner; in serais an esclave."' 
 
 Continuing: "It is easy to understand this. Mighty sovereigns 
 wish their courts to convey the idea of the importance of their power. 
 On the contrary, petty princes wish theirs to disguise thenarrow limits 
 
of their rule. Everything magnifies, or rather dwells, about a petty 
 sovereign— etiquette, regard, and flattery ; the latter is the standard of 
 his greatness ; he never thinks it exaggerated. This wa\>- of judging 
 things becomes quite natural to him, and is not altered by the vicissi- 
 tudes of fortune. Thus, if victory brings into his dominions— into his 
 very palace — a man before whom he can himself be but a courtier, he 
 will stoop, in the presence of his victor, as low as he wished his own 
 subjects to do before himself. He cannot conceive any other form of 
 flattery. At powerful courts they know another means of raising 
 themselves: it is to bow ; petty princes onl}' know how to crawl, and 
 remain crawling until fortune comes to raise them. I did not see at 
 Erfurt a single hand nobW stroking the lion's mane." 
 
 These be bitter words, but I believe just. 
 
 Bobby Burns, telling of his toady friend, described them all when 
 
 he said : 
 
 " Of Lordly acquaintance you boast, 
 
 And the Dukes you dined wi' yestereen, 
 
 Yet an insect's an insect at most, 
 
 Though it crawl on the curl of a queen." 
 
 Borodino and Moscow wei'e the endings of his triumphs. He 
 shall now account to mankind for his sins. Twenty-three thousand 
 survivors of 500,000 Frenchmen bleaching their bones on the arid 
 fields of frozen Russia shall tell the pitiable 'tale. The adult French- 
 men being dead, the boy must take his place. Comes conscription, 
 Dresden, Leipsic, the defence of France, with all Europe in arms. 
 Where is the tiger in his lair, that stood out as he did in Champagne? 
 Let Champaubert, Montminail, Craonne, Brienne, Areis sur Aube 
 make their reply. Arcis saw him at the head of 17,000 men, enveloped 
 
by almost 300,000. He saw that his career was closed. A shell fell in 
 front of a regiment of \'oung conscripts and the hissing fuse blazedSits 
 messengers of death. Now was his time. He may encourage the 
 youths ; he ma}- also die. You must see it to understand it ! You must 
 look at the contrast between the fright of the horse and the calmness 
 of the man. The white horse knew his rider and he knew he must 
 alwaj's answer to that spur. He spurred to the side of the bursting 
 shell — and look at him as he stood there! The horse was hurt, but not 
 a muscle of the man. For a moment he was enveloped in smoke and 
 dust, and it seemed that all was over. But not so. "Can I not at 
 least die? " said he. When he went into Russia, Ivan had given him a 
 potion which would certainly kill him if the Cossacks got him in their 
 grip to mutilate him, a la Frederick the Great. He had worn it always 
 next to his heart. This night he will take it. Death comes not, but 
 horrible agonies and pain. "Ivan, give me some more." "Sire, my 
 profession calls on me to save and not destroj^," as he ran from the 
 palace. Emetics do the rest — Providence has saved him to expiate his 
 crimes on the rock of St. Helena, and, ladies and gentlemen, if it gives 
 3 r ou any pleasure to look upon him in his desolation and despair, look 
 at him as Meissonier has presented him before you. 
 
H 106 89 1