With singular tact he selected the most skillful and efficient men to

fill all the infinitely varied departments of state. "I want more head,"

said he, "and less tongue." Every one was kept busy. Every one was

under the constant vigilance of his eagle eye. He appeared to have an

instinctive acquaintance with every branch of legislation, and with the

whole science of government. Three times a week the minister of finance

appeared before him, and past corruption was dragged to light and

abolished. The treasury was bankrupt. Napoleon immediately replenished

it. The army was starving, and almost in a state of mutiny. Napoleon

addressed to them a few of his glowing words of encouragement and

sympathy, and the emaciate soldiers in their rags, enthusiastically

rallied again around their colors, and in a few days, from all parts of

France, baggage wagons were trundling toward them, laden with clothing

and provisions. The navy was dilapidated and blockaded. At the voice of

Napoleon in every port of France the sound of the ship hammer was heard,

and a large armament was prepared to convey succor to his comrades in

Egypt. Such vigor mortal man never exhibited before. All France felt an

immediate impulse. At the same time in which Napoleon was accomplishing

all these duties, and innumerable others, any one of which would have

engrossed the whole energies of any common man, he was almost daily

meeting his colleagues and the two committees to discuss the new

Constitution.

Sieyes was greatly alarmed at the generosity of some of Napoleon's acts.

"The emigrants," said he, "will return in crowds. The royalists will

again raise their heads, and the republicans will be massacred." His

imagination was so excited with apprehensions of conspiracies and

assassinations, that he once awoke Napoleon at three o'clock in the

morning, to inform him of a fearful conspiracy, which had just been

discovered by the police. Napoleon quietly listened to his story, and

then, raising his head from his pillow, inquired, "Have they corrupted

our guard?" "No!" Sieyes replied. "Then go to bed," said Napoleon, "and

let them alone. It will be time enough to be alarmed, when our six

hundred men are attacked." Napoleon was so powerful, that he could

afford to be generous. His magnanimity was his most effectual safeguard.

In less than six weeks, the new Constitution was ready to be presented

to the nation for their acceptance. In the original draft, drawn up by

Sieyes, the supreme power was to be vested in a Grand Elector, to be

chosen for life, to possess a revenue of one million of dollars, and to

reside in the utmost possible magnificence in the palaces of Versailles.

He was to be a mock king, with all the pomp and pageantry of royalty,

but without its power. This was the office which Sieyes hoped would

satisfy the ambition of Napoleon. Napoleon exploded it as with a

bomb-shell. "Can you conceive," he exclaimed, "that a man of the least

talent or honor, would humble himself to accept an office, the duties of

which are merely to fatten like a pig on so many millions a year?" The

Grand Elector was annihilated. The following was the Constitution

adopted. The sovereign power was to be invested in Napoleon as First

Consul. Two subordinate consuls, Cambaceres and Lebrun, were to be his

counselors, with deliberative voices only. The Consuls proposed laws to

a body called the Tribunate, who thoroughly discussed them, and either

rejected, or, if they approved, recommended the law to a third body,

called the Legislature. The Legislature heard the report in silence,

having no deliberative voice. Three were appointed from the Tribunate to

present the arguments in favor of the law, and three those against it.

Without further debate, the Legislature, as judges, voted. The Senate

also was a silent body. It received the law from the Legislature, and

approved or condemned. Here were the forms of an ample supply of checks

and balances. Every act proposed by Napoleon, must be sanctioned by the

Tribunate, the Legislature, and the Senate before it could become a law.

"The Constitution," said Sieyes, "is a pyramid of which the people is

the base." Every male in France 21 years of age, paying a tax, was a

voter. They amounted to about 5,000,000. In their primary assemblies,

they chose 500,000 delegates. These delegates, from their own number,

chose 50,000. These latter, from themselves, chose 5000. These 5000 were

the Notables, or the eligible to office. From them, thus elected by the

people, all the offices were to be filled. The Constitution declared

Napoleon to be First Consul for ten years, with an annual salary of

$100,000. Cambaceres and Lebrun were his associate Consuls, with a

salary of $60,000. These three, with Sieyes and Ducos, were to choose,

from the Notables, the Senate, to consist of eighty members. They were

elected for life, and received a salary of $5000. The Senate chose three

hundred members, from the Notables, to compose the Legislature, with a

salary of $2000, and one hundred members to compose the Tribunate, with

an annual salary of $3000 each.

Such, in brief, was the Constitution under which Napoleon commenced his

reign. Under a man of ordinary vigor this would have been a popular and

a free government. With Napoleon it was in effect an unlimited monarchy.

The energy of his mind was so tremendous that he acquired immediately

the control of all these bodies. The plans he proposed were either so

plainly conducive to the public welfare, or he had such an extraordinary

faculty of convincing Tribunes, Legislators, and Senators that they were

so, that these bodies almost invariably voted in perfect accordance with

his will. It was Napoleon's unquestioned aim to aggrandize France. For

the accomplishment of that purpose he was ready to make any conceivable

personal sacrifice. In that accomplishment was to consist all his glory.

No money could bribe him. No enticements of sensual indulgence could

divert his energies from that single aim. His capacious intellect seemed

to grasp intuitively every thing which could affect the welfare of

France. He gathered around him, as agents for the execution of his

plans, the most brilliant intellects of Europe, and yet they all took

the attitude of children in his presence. With a body which seemed

incapable of fatigue, and a mind whose energies never were exhausted,

he consecrated himself to the majestic enterprise, by day and by night,

and with an untiring energy which amazed and bewildered his

contemporaries, and which still excites the wonder of the world. No one

thought of resisting his will. His subordinates sought only to

anticipate his wishes. Hence no machinery of government, which human

ingenuity could devise, could seriously embarrass the free scope of his

energies. His associates often expressed themselves as entirely overawed

by the majesty of his intellect. They came from his presence giving

utterance to the most profound admiration of the justice and the

rapidity of his perceptions. "We are pressed," said they, "into a very

whirlwind of urgency; but it is all for the good of France."

The Constitution was now presented to the whole people, for their

acceptance or rejection. A more free and unbiased expression of public

opinion could not possibly have been obtained. The result is

unparalleled in the annals of the ballot-box. There were 3,011,007 votes

cast in favor of the Constitution, and but 1562 in the negative. By such

unanimity, unprecedented in the history of the world, was Napoleon

elected First Consul of France. Those who reject the dogma of the divine

right of kings, who believe in the sacred authority of the voice of the

people, will, in this act, surely recognize the legitimacy of Napoleon's

elevation. A better title to the supreme power no ruler upon earth could

ever show. With Americans it can not be a serious question who had the

best title to the throne, Louis Capet, from the accident of birth, or

Napoleon Bonaparte, from the unanimous vote of the people. Napoleon may

have abused the power which was thus placed in his hands. Whether he did

so or not, the impartial history of his career will record. But it is

singularly disingenuous to call this an usurpation. It was a nation's

voice. "I did not usurp the crown," said Napoleon, proudly and justly.

"It was lying in the mire. I picked it up. The people placed it on my

head." It is not strange that the French people should have decided as

they did. Where is the man now, in either hemisphere, who would not have

preferred the government of Napoleon to any other dominion which was

then possible in France?

From the comparatively modest palace of the Luxembourg, Napoleon and

Josephine now removed to take up their residence in the more magnificent

apartments of the Tuileries. Those saloons of royalty which had been

sacked and denied by the mob of Paris, were thoroughly repaired. The red

cap of Jacobinism had been daubed upon the walls of the apartments of

state, and a tri-colored cockade had been painted upon the military hat

of Louis XIV. "Wash those out," said Napoleon. "I will have no such

abominations." The palace was furnished with more than its former

splendor. Statues of illustrious men of all lands embellished the vacant

niches. Those gorgeous saloons, where kings and queens for so many ages

had reveled, were now adorned, with outvying splendor, for the residence

of the people's chosen ruler.

Louis was the king of the nobles, placed by the nobles upon the throne.

He consulted for their interests. All the avenues of wealth and honor

were open for them alone. The people were merely slaves, living in

ignorance, poverty, obscurity, that the king and the nobles might dwell

in voluptuousness. Napoleon was the ruler of the _people_. He was one of

their own number. He was elevated to power by their choice. He spread

out an unobstructed arena for the play of their energies. He opened

before them the highways to fame and fortune. The only aristocracy which

he favored was the aristocracy of intellect and industry. No privileged

classes were tolerated. Every man was equal in the eye of the law. All

appealed to the same tribunals, and received impartial justice. The

taxes were proportioned to property. The feudal claims of the landed

proprietors were abolished. And there was no situation in the state, to

which the humblest citizen might not aspire. They called Napoleon First

Consul. They cared not much what he was called, so long as he was the

supreme ruler of their own choice. They were proud of having their ruler

more exalted, more magnificent, more powerful than the kings of the

nobles. Hence the secret of their readiness to acquiesce in any plans

which might minister to the grandeur of their own Napoleon. His glory

was their glory. And never were they better pleased than when they saw

him eclipse in splendor the proudest sovereigns upon the surrounding

thrones.

One evening Napoleon, with his gray surtout buttoned up closely around

him, went out with Bourrienne, incognito, and sauntered along the Rue

St. Honoré, making small purchases in the shops, and conversing freely

with the people about the First Consul and his acts. "Well, citizen,"

said Napoleon, in one of the shops, "what do they say of Bonaparte?" The

shop-keeper spoke of him in terms of the most enthusiastic admiration.

"Nevertheless," said Napoleon, "we must watch him. I hope that it will

not be found that we have merely changed one tyrant for another--the

Directory for Bonaparte." The shop-keeper was so indignant at this

irreverent intimation, that he showered upon Napoleon such a volley of

abuse, as to compel him to escape precipitately into the street, greatly

amused and delighted with the adventure.

It was on the morning of the 19th of February, 1800, when all Paris was

in commotion to witness the most gratifying spectacle of the people's

sovereign taking possession of the palace of the ancient kings. The

brilliance of Napoleon's character and renown had already thrown his

colleagues into the shade. They were powerless. No one thought of them.

Sieyes foresaw this inevitable result, and, with very commendable

self-respect, refused to accept the office of Second Consul. A few

interviews with Napoleon had taught him that no one could share power

with a will so lofty and commanding. Napoleon says, "Sieyes had fallen

into a mistake respecting the nature of these Consuls. He was fearful of

mortification and of having the First Consul to contend with at every

step. This would have been the case had all the Consuls been equal. We

should then have all been enemies. But the Constitution having made them

subordinate, there was no room for the struggles of obstinacy." Indeed

there was no room for such a conflict. Utter powerlessness can not

contend with omnipotence. The subordinate Consuls could only _give

advice when Napoleon asked it_. He was not likely to trouble them.

The royal apartments in the Tuileries were prepared for the First

Consul. The more modest saloons in the Pavilion of Flora were assigned

to the two other Consuls. Cambaceres, however, was so fully conscious of

the real position which he occupied, that he declined entering the

palace of the kings. He said to his colleague, Lebrun, "It is an error

that we should be lodged in the Tuileries. It suits neither you nor me.

For my part, I will not go. General Bonaparte will soon want to lodge

there by himself. Then we shall be suffered to retire. It is better not

to go at all."

The morning of Napoleon's removal to the Tuileries, he slept later than

usual. When Bourrienne entered his chamber at seven o'clock, Napoleon

was soundly asleep. On awaking he said, "Well, Bourrienne, we shall at

length sleep at the Tuileries. You are very fortunate; you are not

obliged to make a show of yourself. You may go in your own way. But as

for me, I must go in a procession. This I dislike. But we must have a

display. It gratifies the people. The Directory was too simple; it

therefore enjoyed no consideration. With the army, simplicity is in its

place. But in a great city, in a palace, it is necessary that the chief

of a state should draw attention upon himself by all possible means. But

we must move with caution. Josephine will see the review from the

apartments of Consul Lebrun."

Napoleon entered a magnificent carriage, seated between his two

colleagues, who appeared but as his attendants or body-guard. The

carriage was drawn by six beautiful white horses, a present to Napoleon

from the Emperor of Austria, immediately after the treaty of Campo

Formio. A gorgeous train of officers, accompanied by six thousand picked

troops, in the richest splendor of military display, composed the

cortège. Twenty thousand soldiers, with all the concomitants of martial

pomp, in double files, lined the streets through which the procession

was to pass. A throng which could not be numbered, from the city and

from the country, filled the garden, the streets, the avenues, the

balconies, the house-tops, and ebbed and flowed in surging billows far

back into the Elysian Fields. They had collected to exult in introducing

the idol of the army and of the nation--the people's king--into the

palace from which they had expelled the ancient monarchs of France. The

moment the state carriage appeared, the heavens seemed rent with the

unanimous shout, "Long live the First Consul." As soon as Napoleon

arrived at the foot of the great stair, ascending to the palace, he left

the other Consuls, and, mounting his horse, passed in review the

magnificent array of troops drawn up before him. Murat was on his right;

Lannes on his left. He was surrounded by a brilliant staff of war-worn

veterans, whose scarred and sun-burnt visages told of many a toilsome

and bloody campaign. There were three brigades, which appeared with the

banners which had passed through the terrific conflicts of Lodi, Rivoli,

and Arcola. They were black with powder, and torn into shreds by shot.

Napoleon instantly uncovered his head, and, with profound reverence,

saluted these monuments of military valor. An universal burst of

enthusiasm greeted the well-timed and graceful act. Napoleon then

returned to the Tuileries, ascended to the audience-chamber, and took

his station in the centre of the room. All eyes were fixed upon him. The

two associate Consuls were entirely forgotten, or, rather, they were

reduced to the rank of pages, following in his train, and gracing his

triumph.

[Illustration: NAPOLEON'S ENTRANCE INTO THE TUILERIES.]

The suite of rooms appropriated to Josephine, consisted of two

magnificent saloons, with private apartments adjoining. In the evening a

vast assemblage of brilliant guests were gathered in those regal halls.

When Josephine entered the gorgeously illumined apartments, leaning upon

the arm of Talleyrand, and dressed with that admirable taste which she

ever displayed, a murmur of admiration rose from the whole assembly. The

festivities of the evening were protracted until nearly the dawn of the

ensuing morning. When the guests had all retired, Napoleon, with his

hands folded behind him, paced to and fro through the spacious halls,

apparently absorbed in profound and melancholy thought; and then, as if

half soliloquizing, said to his secretary, Bourrienne, "Here we are in

the Tuileries. We must take good care to remain here. Who has not

inhabited this palace? It has been the abode of robbers; of members of

the Convention. There is your brother's house, from which, eight years

ago, we saw the good Louis XVI. besieged in the Tuileries and carried

off into captivity. But you need not fear a repetition of that scene.

Let them attempt it with me if they dare."

The next morning Napoleon said to Bourrienne, "See what it is to have

the mind set upon a thing. It is not two years since we resolved to take

possession of the Tuileries. Do you think that we have managed affairs

badly since that time. In fact, I am well satisfied. Yesterday's affair

went off well. Do you imagine that all those people who came to pay

their court to me were sincere? Most certainly they were not. But the

joy of the _people_ was real. The people know what is right. Besides,

consult the great thermometer of public opinion, the public funds. On

the 17th Brumaire they were at 11--the 20th, 16--to-day, 21. In this

state of things, I can allow the Jacobins to chatter. But they must not

talk too loud."

With consummate tact, Napoleon selected the ablest men of the empire to

occupy the most important departments in the state. Talleyrand, the wily

diplomatist, having received his appointment, said to Napoleon, "You

have confided to me the administration of foreign affairs. I will

justify your confidence. But I deem it my duty at once to declare, that

I will consult with you alone. That France may be well governed, there

must be unity of action. The First Consul must retain the direction of

every thing, the home, foreign, and police departments, and those of war

and the marine. The Second Consul is an able lawyer. I would advise that

he have the direction of legal affairs. Let the Third Consul govern the

finances. This will occupy and amuse them. Thus you, having at your

disposal the vital powers of government, will be enabled to attain the

noble object of your aims, the regeneration of France." Napoleon

listened in silence. Having taken leave of his minister, he said to his

secretary, "Talleyrand has detected my views. He is a man of excellent

sense. He advises just what I intend to do. They walk with speed who

walk alone." Some one had objected to the appointment of Talleyrand,

saying, "He is a weathercock." "Be it so," said Napoleon, "he is the

ablest Minister for Foreign Affairs in our choice. It shall be my care

that he exerts his abilities."

"Carnot," objected another, "is a republican." "Republican or not,"

Napoleon replied, "he is the last Frenchman who will wish to see France

dismembered. Let us avail ourselves of his unrivaled talents in the war

department, while he is willing to place them at our command."

"Fouché," objected one, "is a compound of falsehood and duplicity."

"Fouché alone," Napoleon rejoined, "is able to conduct the ministry of

the police. He alone has a knowledge of all the factions and intrigues

which have been spreading misery through France. We can not create men.

We must take such as we find. It is easier to modify, by circumstances,

the feelings and conduct of an able servant than to supply his place."

M. Abriel, a peer of France, was recommended as Minister of Justice. "I

do not know you, citizen Abriel," said Napoleon, as he presented him his

diploma of office, "but I am informed that you are the most upright man

in the magistracy. It is on that account that I have named you Minister

of Justice."

One of Napoleon's first acts was to abolish the annual festival

celebrating the bloody death of Louis XVI. He declared it to be a

barbarous ceremony, and unworthy of a humane people. "Louis was a

tyrant," said Sieyes. "Nay, nay," Napoleon promptly replied, "Louis was

no tyrant. Had he been a tyrant, I should this day have been a captain

of engineers, and you, Monsieur L'Abbé, would have been saying mass."

The Directory had resorted to the iniquitous procedure of forced loans

to replenish the bankrupt treasury. Napoleon immediately rejected the

tyrannical system. He assembled seventy of the most wealthy capitalists

of Paris, in his closet at the Tuileries. Frankly he laid before them

the principles of the new government, and the claims it had on the

confidence of the public. The appeal was irresistible. The merchants and

bankers, overjoyed at the prospect of just and stable laws, by

acclamation voted an immediate loan of two millions of dollars. Though

this made provision but for a few days, it was very timely aid. He then

established an equitable tax upon property, sufficient to meet the

exigencies of the state. The people paid the tax without a murmur.

Napoleon entertained profound aversion for the men who had been engaged

in the sanguinary scenes of the revolution, particularly for the

regicides. He always spoke with horror of those men of blood, whom he

called the assassins of Louis. He deplored the necessity of employing

any of them. Cambaceres was a member of the Convention which had

condemned the king to the guillotine. Though he voted against the

sentence of death, he had advocated his arrest. "Remember," said

Napoleon one day to Cambaceres, at the same time playfully pinching his

ear, "that I had nothing to do with that atrocious business. But your

case, my dear Cambaceres, is clear. If the Bourbons ever return, you

must be hanged." Cambaceres did not enjoy such pleasantry. His smile was

ghastly. Upon the reorganization of the Supreme Court of France,

Napoleon said to Bourrienne, "I do not take any decided steps against

the regicides. But I will show what I think of them. Target, the

president of this court, refused to defend Louis XVI. I will replace him

by Tronchet, who so nobly discharged that perilous duty. They may say

what they choose. My mind is made up."

The enthusiasm of the army was immediately revived by the attention

which the First Consul devoted to its interests. He presented beautiful

sabres to those soldiers who had highly distinguished themselves. One

hundred were thus conferred. A sergeant of grenadiers had obtained

permission to write to the First Consul, expressing his thanks.

Napoleon, with his own hand, replied, "I have received your letter, my

brave comrade. You had no occasion to remind me of your gallant

behavior. You are the most courageous grenadier in the army since the

death of the brave Benezeti. You have received one of the hundred sabres

which I have distributed, and all agree that none deserve it better. I

wish much to see you again. The Minister of War sends you an order to

come to Paris." This letter was widely circulated in the army, and

roused the enthusiasm of the soldiers to the highest pitch. The First

Consul, the most illustrious general of France, the great Napoleon,

calls a sergeant of grenadiers "my brave comrade." This sympathy for the

people was ever a prominent trait in Napoleon's character.

The following anecdote will illustrate his views upon this subject; or,

rather, a part of his views. All men have varying moods of mind, which

seem to be antagonistic to each other. Napoleon was conversing with

O'Meara respecting the English naval service.

"During the winter," said O'Meara, "the seamen are better off at sea

than the officers."

"Why so?" inquired Napoleon.

"Because," was the reply, "they have the advantage of the galley-fire,

where they can warm and dry themselves."

"And why can not the officers do the same?"

"It would not be exactly decorous," O'Meara replied, "for the officers

to mix in that familiar way with the men."

"Ah, this aristocratic pride!" exclaimed Napoleon "Why, in my campaigns,

I used to go to the lines in the bivouacs; sit down with the humblest

soldier, and converse freely with him. You are the most aristocratic

nation in the world. I always prided myself on being the man of the

people. I sprung from the populace myself. Whenever a man had merit I

elevated him, without asking how many degrees of nobility he had. To the

aristocracy you pay every kind of attention. Nothing can be too good for

them. The people you treat precisely as if they were slaves. Can any

thing be more horrible than your pressing of seamen? You send your boats

on shore to seize upon every male that can be found, who, if they have

the misfortune to belong to the populace, if they can not prove

themselves _gentlemen_, are hurried on board your ships. And yet you

have the impudence to cry out against the conscription in France. It

wounds your pride, because it fell _upon all ranks_. You are shocked

that a gentleman's son should be obliged to defend his country, just as

if he were one of the common people--that he should be compelled to

expose his body like a vile plebeian. Yet God made all men alike. One

day the people will avenge themselves. That conscription, which so

offended your aristocratic pride, was conducted scrupulously according

to the principles of equal rights. Every native of a country is bound to

defend it. The conscription did not, like your press-gang, crush a

particular class, because they were poor. It was the most just, because

the most equal, mode of raising troops. It rendered the French army the

best composed in the world."

When a prisoner on board the Northumberland, in his passage to St.

Helena, all the common sailors, though English, became most

enthusiastically attached to Napoleon. Some one alluded to this fact.

"Yes," said Napoleon, "I believe that they were my friends. I used to go

among them; speak to them kindly, and ask familiar questions. My freedom

in this respect quite astonished them, as it was so different from that

which they had been accustomed to receive from their own officers. You

English are great aristocrats. You keep a wide distance between

yourselves and the people."

It was observed in reply, "On board a man-of-war it is necessary to keep

the seamen at a great distance, in order to maintain a proper respect

for the officers."

"I do not think," Napoleon rejoined, "that it is necessary to keep up so

much reserve as you practice. When the officers do not eat or drink, or

make too many freedoms with the seamen, I see no necessity for any

greater distinctions. Nature formed all men equal. It was always my

custom to go freely among the soldiers and the common people, to

converse with them, ask them little histories, and speak kindly to them.

This I found to be of the greatest benefit to me. On the contrary, the

generals and officers I kept at a great distance."

Notwithstanding these protestations of freedom from aristocratic pride,

which were unquestionably sincere, and in their intended application

strictly true, it is also evident that Napoleon was by no means

insensible to the mysterious fascination of illustrious rank. It is a

sentiment implanted in the human heart, which never has been, and never

can be eradicated. Just at this time Murat sought Napoleon's sister

Caroline for his bride. "Murat! Murat!" said Napoleon, thoughtfully and

hesitatingly. "_He is the son of an innkeeper. In the elevated rank to

which I have attained I can not mix my blood with his._" For a moment he

seemed lost in thought, and then continued, "Besides, there is no hurry.

I shall see by-and-by." A friend of the young cavalry officer urged the

strong attachment of the two for each other. He also plead Murat's

devotion to Napoleon, his brilliant courage, and the signal service he

had rendered at the battle of Aboukir. "Yes," Napoleon replied, with

animation, "Murat was superb at Aboukir. Well, for my part, all things

considered, I am satisfied. Murat suits my sister. And, then, they can

not say that I am aristocratic, that I seek grand alliances. Had I given

my sister to a noble, all you Jacobins would have cried out for a

counter-revolution. Since that matter is settled we must hasten the

business. We have no time to lose. If I go to Italy I wish to take Murat

with me. We must strike a decisive blow, there. Come to-morrow."

Notwithstanding Napoleon's vast power, and the millions which had been

at his disposal, his private purse was still so empty, that he could

present his sister Caroline with but six thousand dollars as her

marriage portion. Feeling the necessity of making some present in

accordance with his exalted rank, he took a magnificent diamond

necklace, belonging to Josephine, as the bridal gift. Josephine most

gracefully submitted to this spoliation of her jewelry.

As Napoleon became more familiar with the heights of power to which he

had attained, all these plebeian scruples vanished. He sought to ally

his family with the proudest thrones of Europe; and, repelling from his

bosom the faithful wife of his early years, he was proud of commingling

his own blood with that of a daughter of the Cæsars.

In the midst of these events, the news arrived in France of the death of

Washington. Napoleon immediately issued the following order of the day

to the army:--"Washington is dead! That great man fought against

tyranny. He established the liberty of his country. His memory will be

ever dear to the free men of both hemispheres; and especially to the

French soldiers, who, like him and the American troops, have fought for

liberty and equality. As a mark of respect, the First Consul orders

that, for ten days, black crape be suspended from all the standards and

banners of the Republic."

In reference to the course he pursued at this time, Napoleon

subsequently remarked, "Only those who wish to deceive the people, and

rule them for their own personal advantage, would desire to keep them in

ignorance. The more they are enlightened, the more will they feel

convinced of the utility of laws, and of the necessity of defending

them; and the more steady, happy, and prosperous will society become. If

knowledge should ever be dangerous to the multitude, it can can only be

when the government, in opposition to the interests of the people,

drives them into an unnatural situation, or dooms the lower classes to

perish for want. In such a case, knowledge will inspire them with the

spirit to defend themselves. My code alone, from its simplicity, has

been more beneficial to France than the whole mass of laws which

preceded it. My schools and my system of mutual instruction, are to

elevate generations yet unborn. Thus, during my reign, crimes were

constantly diminishing. On the contrary, with our neighbors in England,

they have been increasing to a frightful degree. This alone is

sufficient to enable any one to form a decisive judgment of the

respective governments."[3]

[Footnote 3: This fact is corroborated by authentic documents.

France in 1801, the second year of Napoleon's consulship, with

34,000,000 of inhabitants, condemned to death 882. England, with

but sixteen millions, executed the same year 3,400. In the year

1811, after Napoleon had reigned ten years, France, with a

population of 42,000,000, condemned but 392. England, with

17,000,000, condemned 4,400.--_See Situation of England, by M.

Montveran._]

"Look at the United States," he continued, "where, without any apparent

force or effort, every thing goes on prosperously. Every one is happy

and contented. And this is because the public wishes and interests are

in fact the ruling power. Place the same government at variance with the

will and interest of its inhabitants, and you would soon see what

disturbance, trouble, and confusion--above all, what increase of crime,

would ensue. When I acquired the supreme direction of affairs, it was

wished that I might become a Washington. Words cost nothing; and no

doubt those who were so ready to express the wish, did so without any

knowledge of times, places, persons, or things. Had I been in America, I

would willingly have been a Washington. I should have had little merit

in so being. I do not see how I could reasonably have acted otherwise.

But had Washington been in France, exposed to discord within and

invasion from without, he could by no possibility have been what he was

in America. Indeed it would have been folly to have attempted it. It

would only have prolonged the existence of evil. For my part, I could

only have been a _crowned Washington_. It was only in a congress of

kings, and in the midst of kings, yielding or subdued, that I could take

my place. Then, and then only, could I successfully display Washington's

moderation, disinterestedness and wisdom."

"I think," said La Fayette, at the time of the revolution which placed

Louis Phillipe upon the throne of France, "that the Constitution of the

United States is the best which has ever existed. But France is not

prepared for such a government. We need a throne surrounded by

republican institutions."

Napoleon was indefatigable in his endeavors to reorganize in the

Tuileries the splendors of a court. The French people were like children

who needed to be amused, and Napoleon took good care to provide

amusement for them. His ante-chambers were filled with chamberlains,

pages, and esquires. Servants, in brilliant liveries, loitered in the

halls and on the staircases. Magnificent entertainments were provided,

at which Josephine presided with surpassing grace and elegance. Balls,

operas, and theatres, began to be crowded with splendor and fashion, and

the gay Parisians were delighted. Napoleon personally took no interest

whatever in these things. All his energies were engrossed in the

accomplishment of magnificent enterprises for the elevation of France.

"While they are discussing these changes," said he, "they will cease to

talk nonsense about my politics, and that is what I want. Let them amuse

themselves. Let them dance. But let them not thrust their heads into the

councils of government. Commerce will revive under the increasing

expenditure of the capital. I am not afraid of the Jacobins. I never was

so much applauded as at the last parade. It is ridiculous to say that

nothing is right but what is new. We have had enough of such novelties.

I would rather have the balls of the opera than the saturnalia of the

Goddess of Reason."[4]

[Footnote 4: During the revolution, a beautiful opera girl, of

licentious character, was conveyed in most imposing ceremonial to

the church of Notre Dame. There she was elevated upon an altar, and

presented to the thronged assemblage as the Goddess of Reason.

"Mortals!" said Chaumette, "cease to tremble before the powerless

thunders of a God whom your fears have created. There is no God.

Henceforth worship none but Reason. Here I offer you its noblest

and purest image. Worship only such divinities as this." The whole

assemblage bowed in adoration, and then retired to indulge in

scenes which the pen refuses to record.]

While Napoleon was thus engaged in reconstructing society in France,

organizing the army, strengthening the navy, and conducting the

diplomacy of Europe, he was maturing and executing the most magnificent

plans of internal improvements. In early life he had conceived a passion

for architectural grandeur, which had been strengthened and chastened by

his residence among the time-honored monuments of Italy and Egypt. With

inconceivable activity of mind, he planned those vast works of utility

and of beauty in Paris, and all over the empire, which will forever

remain the memorials of his well-directed energies, and which will throw

a lustre over his reign which never can be sullied. He erected the

beautiful quay on the banks of the Seine, in front of the Tuileries. He

swept away the buildings which deformed the Place Carrousel, and united

the Louvre and the Tuileries, forming a magnificent square between those

splendid edifices. He commenced the construction of a fourth side for

the great square opposite the picture gallery. It was a vast and a noble

undertaking; but it was interrupted by those fierce wars, which the

allied kings of Europe waged against him. The Bridge of Arts was

commenced. The convents of the Feuillans and Capucines, which had been

filled with victims during the revolution, were torn down, and the

magnificent Rue de Rivoli, now one of the chief ornaments of Paris, was

thrown open. Canals, bridges, turnpike-roads, all over the empire, were

springing into existence. One single mind inspired the nation.

The most inveterate opponents of Napoleon are constrained to the

admission that it is impossible to refuse the praise of consummate

prudence and skill to these, and indeed to all the arrangements he

adopted in this great crisis of his history. "We are creating a new

era," said he. "Of the past we must forget the bad, and remember only

the good."

In one of the largest and most populous provinces of France, that of La

Vendee, many thousand royalists had collected, and were carrying on a

most desperate civil war. England, with her ships, was continually

sending to them money, ammunition, and arms, and landing among them

regiments of emigrant troops formed in London. They had raised an army

of sixty thousand men. All the efforts of the Directory to quell the

insurrection had been unavailing. The most awful atrocities had

disgraced this civil conflict. As soon as Napoleon was firmly seated in

his consular chair, he sent an invitation for the chiefs of these

royalist forces in La Vendee to visit him in Paris, assuring them of a

safe return. They all accepted the invitation. Napoleon met them in his

audience-chamber with the utmost kindness and frankness. He assured them

that it was his only object to rescue France from the ruin into which it

had fallen; to bring peace and happiness to his distracted country. With

that laconic logic which he had ever at command, he said, "Are you

fighting in self-defense? You have no longer cause to fight. I will not

molest you. I will protect you in all your rights. Have you taken arms

to revive the reign of the ancient kings? You see the all but unanimous

decision of the nation. Is it honorable for so decided a minority to

attempt, by force of arms, to dictate laws to the majority?"

Napoleon's arguments were as influential as his battalions. They yielded

at once, not merely their swords but their hearts' homage. One alone,

George Cadoudal, a sullen, gigantic savage, who preferred banditti

marauding above the blessings of peace, refused to yield. Napoleon had a

private interview with him. The guard at the door were extremely alarmed

lest the semi-barbarian should assassinate the First Consul. Napoleon

appealed to his patriotism, his humanity, but all in vain. Cadoudal

demanded his passports and left Paris. "Why did I not," he afterward

often said, as he looked at his brawny, hairy, Samson-like arms,

"strangle that man when I had him in my power?" He went to London, where

he engaged in many conspiracies for the assassination of Napoleon, and

was finally taken in France, and shot.

[Illustration: NAPOLEON AND THE VENDEEAN CHIEF.]

Civil war was now at an end, and with most singular unanimity all France

was rejoicing in the reign of the First Consul. Napoleon loved not war.

He wished to build up, not to tear down. He desired the glory of being

the benefactor and not the scourge of his fellow-men. Every conflict in

which he had thus far been engaged was strictly a war of self-defense.

The expedition to Egypt can not be considered an exception, for that

enterprise was undertaken as the only means of repelling the assaults of

the most determined and powerful enemy France has ever known. Napoleon

was now strong. All France was united in him. With unobstructed power he

could wield all her resources, and guide all her armies. Under these

circumstances most signally did he show his love of peace, by adopting

the very characteristic measure of writing directly to the King of

England and to the Emperor of Austria, proposing reconciliation. It was

noble in the highest degree for him to do so. Pride would have said,

"They commenced the conflict; they shall be the first to ask for peace."

To the King of England he wrote,

"Called, Sire, by the wishes of the French nation, to occupy the first

magistracy of the Republic, I judge it well, on entering my office, to

address myself directly to your Majesty. Must the war, which for the

four last years has devastated the world, be eternal? Are there no means

of coming to an understanding? How can the two most enlightened nations

of Europe, stronger already and more powerful than their safety or their

independence requires, sacrifice to ideas of vain-glory the well-being

of commerce, internal prosperity, and the repose of families! How is it

that they do not feel peace to be the first of necessities as the first

of glories? These sentiments can not be strangers to the heart of your

Majesty, who governs a free people with the sole aim of rendering it

happy.

"Your Majesty will perceive only, in this overture, the sincerity of my

desire to contribute efficaciously, for a second time, to the general

pacification, by this prompt advance, perfectly confidential and

disembarrassed of those forms, which, perhaps necessary to disguise the

dependence of weak states, reveal, when adopted by strong states, only

the wish of mutual deception. France and England by the misuse of their

powers, may yet, for a long period, retard, to the misery of all

nations, their exhaustion. But I venture to say that the fate of the

civilized world is connected with the termination of a war, which has

set the whole world in flames."

To this magnanimous application for peace, the King of England did not

judge it proper to return any personal answer. Lord Grenville replied in

a letter full of most bitter recriminations. And all France was

exasperated by the insulting declaration that if France really desired

peace, "_The best and most natural pledge of its reality and permanence,

would be the restoration of that line of princes which, for so many

centuries maintained the French nation in prosperity at home, and

consideration and respect abroad. Such an event would at once remove,

and will at any time remove all obstacles in the way of negotiation or

peace._"

This was, indeed, an irritating response to Napoleon's pacific appeal.

He, however, with great dignity and moderation, replied through his

minister, M. Talleyrand, in the following terms:

"So far from having provoked the war, France, from the commencement of

the revolution, solemnly proclaimed her love of peace, her

disinclination for conquests, and her respect for the independence of

all governments. And it is not to be doubted, that occupied at that time

entirely with her own internal affairs, she would have avoided taking

any part in those of Europe, and would have remained faithful to her

declarations.

"But from an opposite disposition, as soon as the French revolution had

broken out, almost all Europe entered into a league for its destruction.

The aggression was real long before it was public. Internal resistance

was excited; the enemies of the revolution were favorably received,

their extravagant declamations were supported, the French nation was

insulted in the person of its agents, and England particularly set this

example, by the dismissal of the minister of the Republic. Finally,

France was attacked in her independence, her honor, and her safety, long

before war was declared.

"It is to these projects of dismemberment, subjection, and dissolution,

that France has a right to impute the evils which she has suffered, and

those which have afflicted Europe. Assailed on all sides, the Republic

could not but equally extend the efforts of her defense. And it is only

for the maintenance of her own independence, that she has called into

requisition her own strength and the courage of her citizens. If in the

midst of the critical circumstances which the revolution and the war

have brought on, France has not always shown as much moderation as the

nation has shown courage, it must be imputed to the fatal and

persevering animosity with which the resources of England have been

lavished to accomplish the ruin of France.

"But if the wishes of his Britannic majesty are in unison with those of

the French Republic, for the re-establishment of peace, why, instead of

attempting apologies for the war, should not attention be directed to

the means of terminating it. It can not be doubted that his Britannic

Majesty must recognize the right of nations to choose their form of

government, since it is from this right that he holds his crown. But the

First Consul can not comprehend how, after admitting this fundamental

principle, upon which rests the existence of political societies, his

Majesty could annex insinuations, which tend to an interference with the

internal affairs of the Republic. Such interference is no less injurious

to the French nation and its government, than it would be to England and

his Majesty, if an invitation were held out, in form of a return to that

republican form of government which England adopted about the middle of

the last century, or an exhortation to recall to the throne that family

whom their birth had placed there, and whom a revolution had compelled

to descend from it."

There was no possibility of parrying these home thrusts. Lord Grenville

consequently entirely lost his temper. Replying in a note even more

angry and bitter than the first, he declared that England was fighting

for the security of all governments against French Jacobinism, and that

hostilities would be immediately urged on anew without any relaxation.

Napoleon was not at all disappointed or disheartened at the result of

this correspondence. He earnestly desired peace. But he was not afraid

of war. Conscious of the principle, "thrice is he armed who hath his

quarrel just," he was happy in the conviction that the sympathies of

impartial men in all nations would be with him. He knew that the

arrogant tone assumed by England, would unite France as one man, in

determined and undying resistance. "The answer," said he, "filled me

with satisfaction. It could not have been more favorable. England wants

war. She shall have it. Yes! yes! war to the death."

The throne of the King of England, the opulence of her bishops, and the

enormous estates of her nobles were perhaps dependent upon the issue of

this conflict. The demolition of all exclusive privileges, and the

establishment of perfect equality of rights among all classes of men in

France, must have shaken the throne, the aristocracy, and the hierarchy

of England, with earthquake power. The government of England was mainly

in the hands of the king, the bishops, and the lords. Their all was at

stake. In a temptation so sore, frail human nature must not be too

severely censured. For nearly ten years, the princes of France had been

wandering houseless fugitives over Europe. The nobles of France, ejected

from their castles, with their estates confiscated, were beggars in all

lands. Bishops who had been wrapped in ermine, and who had rolled in

chariots of splendor, were glad to warm their shivering limbs by the

fire of the peasant, and to satiate their hunger with his black bread.

To king, and bishop, and noble, in England, this was a fearful warning.

It seemed to be necessary for their salvation to prevent all friendly

intercourse between England and France, to hold up the principles of the

French Revolution to execration, and above all, to excite, if possible,

the detestation of the people of England, against Napoleon, the child

and the champion of popular rights. Napoleon was the great foe to be

feared, for with his resplendent genius he was enthroning himself in the

hearts of the _people_ of all lands.

But no impartial man, in either hemisphere, can question that the

_right_ was with Napoleon. It was not the duty of the thirty millions of

France to ask permission of the fifteen millions of England to modify

their government. The kings of Europe, led by England, had combined to

force with the bayonet, upon France, a rejected and an execrated

dynasty. The inexperienced Republic, distracted and impoverished by

these terrific blows, was fast falling to ruin. The people invested

Napoleon with almost dictatorial powers for their rescue. It was their

only hope. Napoleon, though conscious of strength, in the name of

bleeding humanity, pleaded for peace. His advances were met with contumely

and scorn, and the trumpet notes of defiant hosts rang from the Thames

to the Danube. The ports of France were blockaded by England's

invincible fleet, demolishing the feeble navy of the Republic, and

bombarding her cities. An army of three hundred thousand men pressed

upon the frontiers of France, threatening a triumphant march to her

capital, there to compel, by bayonet and bomb-shell, the French people

to receive a Bourbon for their king. There was no alternative left to

Napoleon but to defend his country. Most nobly he did it.

The correspondence with the British government, which redounds so much

to the honor of Napoleon, vastly multiplied his friends among the masses

of the people in England, and roused in parliament, a very formidable

opposition to the measures of government. This opposition was headed by

Fox, Sheridan, Lord Erskine, the Duke of Bedford, and Lord Holland. They

did not adopt the atrocious maxim, "Our country--right or wrong," but

rather the ennobling principle "Our country--when in the wrong, we will

try to put her right." Never, in the history of the world, has there

been a more spirited or a more eloquent opposition than this question

elicited. Fox, the rival of Pitt, and the profound admirer of Napoleon,

was the most prominent leader of this opposition. Napoleon, with his

laconic and graphic eloquence, thus describes the antagonistic English

statesmen. "In Fox, the heart warmed the genius. In Pitt the genius

withered the heart."

"You ask," the opposition exclaimed, "who was the aggressor? What

matters that? You say it was France. France says it was England. The

party you accuse of being the aggressor is the first to offer to lay

down arms. Shall interminable war continue merely to settle a question

of history? You say it is useless to treat with France. Yet you treated

with the Directory. Prussia and Spain have treated with the Republic,

and have found no cause for complaint. You speak of the crimes of

France. And yet your ally, Naples, commits crimes more atrocious,

without the excuse of popular excitement. You speak of ambition. But

Russia, Prussia, and Austria, have divided Poland. Austria grasps the

provinces of Italy. You yourself take possession of India, of part of

the Spanish, and of all the Dutch colonies. Who shall say that one is

more guilty than another in this strife of avarice. If you ever intend

to treat with the French Republic, there can be no more favorable moment

than the present."

By way of commentary upon the suggestion that France must re-enthrone

the Bourbons, a letter was published, either real or pretended, from the

heir of the exiled house of Stuart, demanding from George the Third, the

throne of his ancestors. There was no possible way of parrying this home

thrust. George the Third, by his own admission, was an usurper, seated

upon the throne of the exiled Stuarts. The opposition enjoyed

exceedingly the confusion produced, in the enemies' ranks, by this

well-directed shot.

The government replied, "Peace with Republican France endangers all the

monarchies of Europe. The First Consul is but carrying out, with

tremendous energy, the principles of the revolution--the supremacy of

the people. Peace with France is but a cessation of resistance to wrong.

France still retains the sentiments which characterized the dawn of her

revolution. She was democratic. She is democratic. She declares war

against kings. She continues to seek their destruction."

There was much force in these declarations. It is true that Napoleon was

not, in the strict sense of the word, a democrat. He was not in favor of

placing the government in the hands of the great mass of the people. He

made no disguise of his conviction that in France the people had neither

the intelligence nor the virtue essential to the support of a wise and

stable republic. Distinctly he avowed that in his judgment the

experiment of a republic had utterly failed, that France must return to

monarchy. The great mass of the people were also satisfied of this

necessity. "The French generally," said Napoleon, "do not ask for

_liberty_. They only seek _equality_."

But France no longer wished for an aristocratic king, who would confer

wealth, splendor, and power exclusively upon his nobles. The old feudal

throne was still hated with implacable hatred. France demanded a popular

throne; a king for the people, one who would consult the interests of

the masses, who would throw open to all alike the avenues of influence

and honor and opulence. Such a monarch was Napoleon. The people adored

him. He is _our_ emperor, they shouted with enthusiasm. We will make him

greater than all the kings of all the nobles. His palaces shall be more

sumptuous, his retinue more magnificent, his glory more dazzling; for

our daughters may enter his court as maids of honor, and our sons may go

in and out at the Tuileries, Versailles, and St. Cloud, the marshals of

France. Lord Grenville was right in saying that Napoleon was but

carrying out the principles of the revolution--equality of

privileges--the supremacy of popular rights. But the despots of Europe

were as hostile to such a king as to a republic.

On the same day in which Napoleon's pacific letter was sent to the King

of England, another, of the same character, was dispatched to the

Emperor of Austria. It was conceived in the following terms:

"Having returned to Europe, after an absence of eighteen months, I find

a war kindled between the French Republic and your Majesty. The French

nation has called me to the occupation of the First Magistracy. A

stranger to every feeling of vain-glory, the first of my wishes is to

stop the effusion of blood which is about to flow. Every thing leads me

to foresee that, in the next campaign, numerous armies, ably conducted,

will treble the number of the victims, who have already fallen since the

resumption of hostilities. The well-known character of your Majesty,

leaves me no doubt as to the secret wishes of your heart. If those

wishes only are listened to, I perceive the possibility of reconciling

the interests of the two nations.

"In the relations which I have formerly entertained with your Majesty,

you have shown me some personal regard. I beg you, therefore, to see in

this overture, which I have made to you, the desire to respond to that

regard, and to convince your Majesty, more and more, of the very

distinguished consideration which I feel toward you."

Austria replied, in courteous terms, that she could take no steps in

favor of peace without consulting her ally England. Thus all Napoleon's

efforts to arrest the desolations of war failed. The result had been

anticipated. He was well aware of the unrelenting hostility with which

the banded kings of Europe contemplated the overthrow of a feudal

throne, and of the mortal antipathy with which they regarded the thought

of receiving a democratic king into their aristocratic brotherhood.

Nothing now remained for Napoleon but to prepare to meet his foes. The

allies, conscious of the genius of that great captain who had filled the

world with the renown of his victories, exerted themselves to the utmost

to raise such forces, and to assail Napoleon with numbers so

overwhelming, and in quarters so varied as to insure his bewilderment

and ruin. The Archduke Charles, of Austria, who was practically

acquainted with the energy of Napoleon, urged peace. But England and

Austria were both confident that France, exhausted in men and money,

could not hold out for another campaign.

The Bourbons now made an attempt to bribe Napoleon to replace them upon

their lost throne. The Count of Provence, subsequently Louis XVIII.,

wrote to him from London, "For a long time, general, you must have known

the esteem in which I hold you. If you doubt my gratitude, mark your own

place. Point out the situation you wish for your friends. The victor of

Lodi, Castiglione, and Arcola, can never prefer a vain celebrity to true

glory. But you are losing the most precious moments. We could secure the

happiness of France. I say we, for I require Bonaparte for such an

attempt, and he could not achieve it without me. Europe observes you.

Glory awaits you. I am impatient to restore peace to my people."

Napoleon did not imitate the example of the King of England and pass

this letter over to his minister. Courteously and kindly, with his own

hand he replied. "I have received your letter. I thank you for the

obliging expressions it contains respecting myself. You should renounce

all hopes of returning to France. You could not return but over the

corpses of 100,000 Frenchmen. Sacrifice your interest to the happiness

and repose of your country. History will duly appreciate your conduct,

in so doing. I am not insensible to the misfortunes of your family, and

shall learn with pleasure that you are surrounded with every thing which

can restore the tranquillity of your retreat."

Benedict Arnold attempted to bring the American Revolution to a close by

surrendering the United States to their rejected king. It was not in

Napoleon's line of ambition to imitate his example. The Bourbons,

finding the direct proffer of reward unavailing, then tried the effect

of female blandishments. The fascinating Duchess of Guiche, a lady of

great beauty and talent, was dispatched a secret emissary to the court

of the First Consul, to employ all the arts of eloquence, address, and

the most voluptuous loveliness, in gaining an influence over Napoleon.

Josephine, who had suffered so much during the Revolution, and whose

associations had been with the aristocracy of France, was a royalist.

She trembled for the safety of her husband, and was very anxious that he

should do whatever in honor might be done, to restore the Bourbons. In

every possible way she befriended the royalists, and had secured, all

over Europe, their cordial esteem. The Duchess of Guiche easily got

access to Josephine. Artfully she said, one morning at the

breakfast-table, "A few days ago I was with the Count of Provence in

London. Some one asked him what he intended to do for Napoleon, in the

event of his restoring the Bourbons. He replied, 'I would immediately

make him Constable of France, and every thing else which he might

choose. And we would raise on the Carrousel, a magnificent column,

surmounted with a statue of Bonaparte crowning the Bourbons.'" Soon

after breakfast Napoleon entered. Josephine most eagerly repeated the

words to him. "And did you not reply," said Napoleon, "that the corpse

of the First Consul would be made the pedestal of the column." The

fascinating duchess was still present. She immediately assailed Napoleon

with all her artillery of beauty, smiles, and flattery. The voluptuous

freedom of her manners, and the charms of the bewitching emissary,

alarmed the jealousy of Josephine. Napoleon, however, was impervious to

the assault. That night the duchess received orders to quit Paris; and

in the morning, in the charge of the police, she was on her way toward

the frontier.

[Illustration: NAPOLEON AND THE DUCHESS OF GUICHE.]

It has often been said that Napoleon made overtures to the Bourbons for

the cession of their rights to the throne. In reference to this

assertion Napoleon says, "How was such a thing possible? I, who could

only reign by the very principle which excluded them, that of the

sovereignty of the people; how could I have sought to possess, through

them, rights which were proscribed in their persons? That would have

been to proscribe myself. The absurdity would have been too palpable,

too ridiculous. It would have ruined me forever in public opinion. The

fact is that neither directly nor indirectly, at home or abroad, did I

ever do any thing of the kind."

The report probably originated in the following facts. Friendly

relations were at one time existing between Prussia and France. The

Prussian government inquired if Napoleon would take umbrage if the

Bourbon princes were allowed to remain in the Prussian territory.

Napoleon replied that he had no objections to that arrangement.

Emboldened by the prompt consent, it was then asked if the French

government would be willing to furnish them with an annual allowance for

their support. Napoleon replied that it should be done most cheerfully,

provided Prussia would be responsible for the princes remaining quiet,

and abstaining from all intrigues to disturb the peace of France.

A few evenings after this last attempt of Louis XVIII. to regain the

throne, Napoleon was one evening walking with Bourrienne in the gardens

of his favorite retreat at Malmaison. He was in fine spirits, for all

things were moving on very prosperously.

[Illustration: NAPOLEON AND BOURRIENNE.]

"Has my wife," said he to Bourrienne, "been speaking to you of the

Bourbons?"

"No, general!" Bourrienne replied.

"But, when you converse with her," Napoleon added, "you lean a little to

her opinions. Tell me now, why do you desire the return of the Bourbons?

You have no interest in their return; nothing to expect from them. You

can never be any thing with them. You have no chance but to remain all

your life in an inferior situation. Have you ever seen a man rise under

kings by merit alone?"

"General," replied Bourrienne, "I am quite of your opinion on one point.

I have never received any favor under the Bourbons; neither have I the

vanity to suppose I should ever rise, under them, to any conspicuous

station. But I look at the interests of France. I believe that you will

hold your power as long as you live. But you have no children, and it is

pretty certain that you will never have any by Josephine. What are we to

do when you are gone? What is to become of France? You have often said

that your brothers were not--"

Here Napoleon interrupted him, exclaiming: "Ah! as to that you are

right. If I do not live thirty years to finish my work, you will, when I

am dead, have long civil wars. My brothers do not suit France. You will

then have a violent contest among the most distinguished generals, each

of whom will think that he has a right to take my place."

"Well, general," said Bourrienne, "why do you not endeavor to remedy

those evils which you foresee?"

"Do you suppose," Napoleon replied, "that I have never thought of that?

But weigh well the difficulties which are in my way. In case of a

restoration, what is to become of the men who were conspicuous in the

revolution? What is to become of the confiscated estates and the

national domain, which have been sold and sold again? What is to become

of all the changes which have been effected in the last twelve years?"

"But, general," said Bourrienne, "need I recall to your attention, that

Louis XVIII. in his letter to you guarantees the contrary of all which

you apprehend? Are you not in a situation to impose any conditions you

may think fit?"

"Depend upon it," Napoleon replied, "the Bourbons will think that they

have reconquered their inheritance, and will dispose of it as they

please. Engagements the most sacred, promises the most positive, will

disappear before force. No sensible man will trust them. My mind is made

up. Let us say no more upon the subject. But I know how these women

torment you. Let them mind their knitting, and leave me to mind my

affairs."

Pithily Bourrienne adds, "The women knitted. I wrote at my desk.

Napoleon made himself Emperor. The empire has fallen to pieces. Napoleon

is dead at St. Helena. The Bourbons have been restored."

The boundless popularity which Napoleon acquired, was that which follows

great achievements, not that which is ingloriously sought for by

pampering to the vices and yielding to the prejudices of the populace.

Napoleon was never a demagogue. His administration was in accordance

with his avowed principles. "A sovereign," said he, "must serve his

people with dignity, and not make it his chief study to please them. The

best mode of winning their love is to secure their welfare. Nothing is

more dangerous than for a sovereign to flatter his subjects. If they do

not afterward obtain every thing which they want, they become irritated,

and fancy that promises have been broken. If they are then resisted,

their hatred increases in proportion as they consider themselves

deceived. A sovereign's first duty is unquestionably to conform with the

wishes of his people. But what the people say is scarcely ever what

they wish. Their desires and their wants can not be learned from their

own mouths, so well as they are to be read in the heart of their

prince."

Again he said in memorable words, which must not be forgotten in forming

a just estimate of his character, "The system of government must be

adapted to the spirit of the nation. France required a strong

government. France was in the same state as Rome when a dictator was

declared necessary for the salvation of the republic. Successions of

coalitions against the existence of the Republic, had been formed by

English gold among all the most powerful nations of Europe. To resist

successfully it was essential that all the energies of the country

should be at the disposal of the chief. I never conquered unless in my

own defense. Europe never ceased to make war against France and her

principles. It was necessary for us to conquer, that we might not be

conquered. Between the parties which agitated France I was like a rider

seated on an unruly horse, who always wants to swerve either to the

right or the left. To lead him to keep a straight course, he is obliged

to make him feel the bridle. The government of a country, just emerging

from revolution, menaced by foreign enemies and agitated by the

intrigues of domestic traitors, must necessarily be energetic. In

quieter times my dictatorship would have terminated, and I should have

commenced my constitutional reign. Even, as it was, with a coalition

always existing against me, either secret or public, there was more

equality in France, than in any other country in Europe. One of my grand

objects was to render education accessible to every body. I caused every

institution to be formed upon a plan which offered instruction to the

public either gratis, or at a rate so moderate as not to be beyond the

means of the peasant. The museums were thrown open to the whole people.

The French populace would have become the best educated in the world.

All my efforts were directed to illuminate the mass of the nation,

instead of brutifying them by ignorance and superstition. The English

people, who are lovers of liberty, will one day lament, with tears,

having gained the battle of Waterloo. It was as fatal to the liberties

of Europe as that of Philippi was to those of Rome. It has precipitated

Europe into the hands of despots, banded together for the oppression of

mankind."

Though Napoleon felt deeply the sanctity of law, and the necessity of

securing the inflexible enforcement of its penalties, he was never more

highly gratified than when he was enabled, by the exercise of the

pardoning power, to rescue the condemned. Says Bourrienne, whose

testimony will not be questioned, "When the imperious necessities of his

political situation, to which, in fact, he sacrificed every thing, did

not interpose, the saving of life afforded him the highest satisfaction.

He would even have thanked those, to whom he rendered such a service,

for the gratification they had thus afforded him." A French emigrant, M.

Defeu, had been taken, with arms in his hands, fighting against France.

The crime was treason; the penalty death. He was connected with some of

the most honorable families in France. A very earnest petition was

presented to Napoleon for his pardon. "There is no room for mercy here,"

Napoleon sternly replied. "A man who fights against his country is a

child who would kill his mother." The affecting condition of his family

was urged, and the beneficial effects upon the community of such an act

of clemency. Napoleon paused for a moment, and then said, "Write, 'The

First Consul orders the judgment on M. Defeu to be suspended.'" The

laconic reprieve was instantly written, signed by Napoleon, and

dispatched to Sens, where the unfortunate man was imprisoned. The next

morning, the moment Bourrienne entered the First Consul's apartment,

Napoleon said to him, "I do not like to do my work by halves. Write to

Sens, 'The First Consul desires that M. Defeu be immediately liberated.'

He may repay the deed with ingratitude. But we can not help that--so

much the worse for him. In all such cases, Bourrienne, never hesitate to

speak to me. When I refuse it will only be because I can not do

otherwise."

In Napoleon's disposition firmness and gentleness were singularly and

beautifully blended. The following anecdote illustrates the

inflexibility of his sense of justice. A wealthy nobleman, thirty years

of age, had married a young girl of sixteen. It was a mercenary

marriage. The friends of the young lady, without any regard to her

feelings, dragged her to the altar. She cherished no affection for her

husband. He became jealous of her, and, without the slightest proof of

her criminality, murdered her. He was arrested, tried, and condemned to

death. Connected by birth with the first families in France, and

rallying around him the interest of the most influential of friends,

great exertions were made to obtain from the First Consul a pardon. To

the petitioners, pleading in his behalf, Napoleon replied:

"Why should I pardon this man? He availed himself of his fortune for the

vile purpose of bribing the affections of a girl. He did not succeed in

winning them, and he became jealous. His jealousy was not the result of

love but of vanity. He has committed the crime of murder. What urged him

to it? Not his honor, for his wife had not injured it. No! he was

instigated by brutality, vanity, and self-love. He has no claim to

mercy. The rich are too prone to consider themselves elevated above the

reach of the law. They imagine that wealth is a sacred shield to them.

This man has committed a crime for which there are no extenuating

circumstances. He must suffer the punishment to which he is justly

doomed. If I were to pardon him, that act of misplaced indulgence would

put in jeopardy the life of every married woman. As the law positively

protects the outraged husband, so it must protect the wife against the

consequences of dislike, interest, caprice, or a new passion, which may

impel a husband to obtain a divorce, by a more prompt and less

expensive course than a legal process."

[Illustration: UNAVAILING INTERCESSION OF JOSEPHINE.]

Josephine whose tender feelings at times controlled her judgment was

urgent in her intercession. Many of the relatives of the wretched man

were among her most intimate friends. "This," said she, "is the first

favor I have asked since your attainment of the supreme power. Surely

you will not deny me?"

"I can not," said Napoleon, "grant your request. And when it is known,

Josephine, that even your persuasions could not induce me to commit an

act of injustice, no one else will henceforth dare to petition me for

such a purpose."

England, Austria, and Russia, together with many other of the minor

powers of monarchical Europe, were now combined against France. The

Emperor Paul of Russia had furnished a large army to co-operate with the

allies in their assault upon the Republic. Ten thousand of the Russians

had been taken prisoners. But in the recent disasters which had

overwhelmed the arms of France, many thousand French prisoners were in

the hands of the allies. Napoleon proposed an exchange. The Austrian

government refused, because it selfishly wished to exchange for

Austrians only. The English government also refused, assigning the

reason that it was contrary to their principles to exchange for

prisoners taken from other nations. "What," exclaimed Napoleon to the

Court of St. James, "do you refuse to liberate the Russians, who were

your allies, who were fighting in your ranks, and under your own

commander, the Duke of York?" With Vienna he also expostulated, in tones

of generous warmth, "Do you refuse to restore to their country those men

to whom you are indebted for your victories and conquests in Italy, and

who have left in your hands a multitude of French prisoners, whom they

have taken? Such injustice excites my indignation." Then yielding to

those impulses, so characteristic of his generous nature, he exclaimed,

"I will restore them to the Czar without exchange. He shall see how I

esteem brave men." Whatever Napoleon undertook he performed

magnificently. The Russian officers immediately received their swords.

The captive troops, ten thousand in number, were assembled at

Aix-la-Chapelle. They were all furnished with a complete suit of new

clothing in the uniform of their own regiments, and thoroughly armed

with weapons of the very best of French manufacture. The officers were

authorized to organize them into battalions and regiments. And thus

triumphantly these battalions of armed men were returned into the bosom

of the ranks of the multitudinous hosts, rushing down upon France. It is

gratifying to record that magnanimity so extraordinary passed not away

unappreciated.

The Emperor Paul was so disgusted with the selfishness of Austria and

England, and was so struck with admiration in view of this unparalleled

generosity of Napoleon, that he immediately abandoned the alliance. He

attached himself to Napoleon with that enthusiasm of constitutional

ardor which characterized the eccentric monarch. In a letter to the

First Consul, written with his own hand, he said, "Citizen First

Consul!--I do not write to you to discuss the rights of men or citizens.

Every country governs itself as it pleases. Wherever I see at the head

of a nation a man who knows how to rule and how to fight, my heart is

attracted toward him. I write to acquaint you with my dissatisfaction

with England, who violates every article of the law of nations, and has

no guide but her egotism and her interest. I wish to unite with you to

put an end to the unjust proceedings of that government."

Russia was thus detached from the alliance, and sending a minister to

Paris, recognized the new government. Napoleon now sent an embassador to

Prussia to establish, if possible, friendly relations with that power.

Duroc, the only one whom Napoleon ever admitted to his ultimate

friendship, was selected for this mission, in consequence of his

graceful address, his polished education, and his varied

accomplishments.--Frederick William was a great admirer of military

genius. Duroc, who had been in the campaigns of Italy and of Egypt,

could interest him with the recital of many heroic enterprises. The

first interview of Duroc with the Prussian monarch was entirely private,

and lasted two hours. The next day Duroc was invited to dine with the

king, and the Prussian court immediately recognized the consular

government.

Notwithstanding Napoleon's vast exaltation, he preserved personally the

same simple tastes and habits, the same untiring devotion to the details

of business, and the same friendships as when he was merely a general of

the Republic. He rose at seven o'clock, dressed with scrupulous

neatness, during which time the morning journals were read to him. He

then entered his cabinet, where he read letters, and wrote or dictated

answers until ten. He then breakfasted with Josephine and Hortense,

usually some of his aids and one or two literary or scientific friends

being invited. At the close of this frugal meal, he attended the

meetings of the Council, or paid visits of ceremony or business to some

of the public offices. At five o'clock he returned to dinner, on

ordinary occasions not allowing himself more than fifteen minutes at the

table. He then retired to the apartments of Josephine, where he received

the visits of ministers, and of the most distinguished persons of the

metropolis.

In the organization of his court Napoleon was unalterably determined to

suppress that licentiousness of manners, which for ages had disgraced

the palaces of the French monarchs, and which, since the overthrow of

Christianity, had swept like a flood of pollution over all France. He

was very severe upon those females, often of the highest rank, who

endeavored to attract attention by freedom of dress or behavior. It was

expected that men and their wives should appear in society together--a

thing hitherto unprecedented, and contrary to all ideas of fashionable

life. The court had hitherto taken the lead in profligacy, and the

nation had followed. Napoleon thought that by enforcing purity of morals

in the palace, he could draw back the nation to more decorum of manners.

"Immorality," said he, "is, beyond a doubt, the worst of all faults in a

sovereign; because he introduces it as a fashion among his subjects, by

whom it is practiced for the sake of pleasing him. It strengthens every

vice, blights every virtue, and infects all society like a pestilence.

In short, it is a nation's scourge."

On one occasion a courtier, very high in rank and office, one of the

imperial chamberlains, requested permission to present his

daughter-in-law at court. She was extremely beautiful, and though

distinguished by a captivating air of simplicity, was one of the most

artful of the daughters of Eve. She joined the imperial parties on all

occasions, and wherever she went threw herself in the way of Napoleon.

Her soft and languishing eyes were riveted upon him. She sighed,

blushed, and affected bashfulness, while, at the same time, she

constantly placed herself in situations to attract his notice. Sometimes

she would stand, for a long time, apparently lost in reverie, gazing and

sighing before the portraits of Napoleon. Her father-in-law affected

displeasure at her conduct, and complained of the unfortunate but

resistless passion which she had imbibed. Her husband, who was

infamously in the intrigue, regarded the matter with the most

philosophic indifference. The mother-in-law also made herself busy to

help the matter along, saying that, after all, it was hard to blame her

for loving Napoleon. For some time Napoleon paid no attention to the

intrigue, and appeared not to notice it. At length the affair became a

subject of court gossip, and it was necessary that it should be noticed.

One evening, at the close of a sitting of the Council of State, at which

Napoleon had presided, conducting Cambaceres into the recess of one of

the windows, he said, "Madame B---- is rendering herself quite

intolerable to me. The conduct of her relations is still more odious.

The father-in-law is an infamous man, her husband a mean-spirited

wretch, and her mother a vile intriguing woman, by whose arts, however,

I am not to be duped. The abandoned female, who unreservedly puts up her

virtue to sale, is preferable to the hypocrite who, for motives equally

mercenary, affects a sentimental attachment. I wish you to call on my

chamberlain, and inform him that I dispense with his services for the

space of a year. Inform his wife that I forbid her appearance at court

for six years. And make known to the affectionate married couple, that,

to afford them an opportunity of duly appreciating each other's

excellent qualities, I give them leave to spend six months in Naples,

six months in Vienna, and six months in any other part of Germany."

On another occasion a lieutenant-colonel sent a petition to Napoleon,

soliciting promotion. In accordance with the corruptions of those

paganized times, he added, "I have two _beautiful daughters_, who will

be too happy to throw themselves at the feet of the good Emperor, and

thank him for the benefit conferred on their father." Napoleon was

indignant at this atrocious proposal. He said, "I know not what

withholds me from having this infamous letter inserted in the order of

the day of the writer's regiment." Napoleon made inquiries respecting

this officer, and found that he had been one of the assassins during the

reign of terror, and an intimate friend of Robespierre. He immediately

dismissed him from service. He found that the daughters were amiable and

interesting young ladies, totally unconscious of the infamous project

entertained by their father. That they might not suffer the penalty of

their father's baseness, he settled a small pension on each of them, on

condition of their leaving Paris, and retiring to their native city.

Napoleon effectually enthroned himself in the hearts of the common

people of France. They believed him to be their friend and advocate.

They still cherish the same belief. At this hour there is no ruler,

enthroned or entombed, who is regarded with the enthusiastic veneration

with which the people of France now cherish the memory of their emperor.

Napoleon stands alone in that glory. He has no rival.

THE BEDOUEEN, MOHAMMAD ALEE, AND THE BAZAARS.[5]

[Footnote 5: From "The Howadji in Syria," by GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS,

Author of "Nile Notes." Just published by Harper and Brothers.]

AMONG THE BEDOUEEN.

The pleasant tales of Sultans' pilgrimages are only the mirage of

memory.

The poor and pious Muslim, which is not the title of Caliphs, when he

undertakes a long desert journey, does not carry nine hundred camels for

his wardrobe, but he carries his grave-linen with him. Stricken by

fatigue, or privation, or disease, when his companions can not tarry for

his recovery or death, he performs the ablution with sand, and digging a

trench in the ground, wraps himself in his grave-clothes, and covering

his body with sand, lies alone in the desert to die, trusting that the

wind will complete his burial.

In the Arabs around you, you will mark a kindred sobriety. Their eyes

are luminous and lambent, but it is a melancholy light. They do not

laugh. They move with easy dignity, and their habitual expression is

musing and introverted, as that of men whose minds are stored with the

solemn imagery of the desert.

You will understand that your own party of Arabs is not of the genuine

desert breed. They are dwellers in cities, not dwellers in tents. They

are mongrel, like the population of a sea-port. They pass from Palestine

to Egypt with caravans of produce, like coast-traders, and are not pure

Bedoueen. But they do not dishonor their ancestry. When a true Bedoueen

passes upon his solitary camel, and with a low-spoken salaam, looks

abstractedly and incuriously upon the procession of great American

Moguls, it is easy to see that his expression is the same as that of the

men around you, but intensified by the desert.

Burckhardt says that all Orientals, and especially the Arabs, are little

sensible of the beauty of nature. But the Bedoueen is mild and

peaceable. He seems to you a dreamy savage. There is a softness and

languor, almost an effeminacy of impression, the seal of the sun's

child. He does not eat flesh--or rarely. He loves the white camel with a

passion. He fights for defense, or for necessity; and the children of

the Shereefs, or descendants of the Prophet, are sent into the desert to

be made heroes. They remain there eight or ten years, rarely visiting

their families.

The simple landscape of the desert is the symbol of the Bedoueen's

character; and he has little knowledge of more than his eye beholds. In

some of the interior provinces of China, there is no name for the ocean,

and when in the time of Shekh Daheir, a party of Bedoueen came to Acre

upon the sea, they asked what was that desert of water.

A Bedoueen after a foray upon a caravan, discovered among his booty

several bags of fine pearls. He thought them dourra, a kind of grain.

But as they did not soften in boiling, he was about throwing them

disdainfully away, when a Gaza trader offered him a red tarboosh in

exchange, which he delightedly accepted.

Without love of natural scenery, he listens forever to the fascinating

romances of the poets, for beautiful expressions naturally clothe the

simple and beautiful images he every where beholds. The palms, the

fountains, the gazelles, the stars, and sun, and moon, the horse, and

camel--these are the large illustration and suggestion of his poetry.

Sitting around the evening fire and watching its flickering with

moveless melancholy, his heart thrills at the prowess of El-Gundubah,

although he shall never be a hero, and he rejoices when

Kattalet-esh-Shugan says to Gundubah, "Come let us marry forthwith,"

although he shall never behold her beauty, nor tread the stately

palaces.

He loves the moon which shows him the way over the desert that the sun

would not let him take by day, and the moon looking into his eyes, sees

her own melancholy there. In the pauses of the story by the fire, while

the sympathetic spirits of the desert sigh in the rustling wind, he says

to his fellow, "Also in all true poems there should be palm-trees and

running water."

For him in the lonely desert the best genius of Arabia has carefully

recorded upon parchment its romantic visions, for him Haroun El Rashid

lived his romantic life, for him the angel spoke to Mohammad in the

cave, and God received the Prophet into the seventh heaven.

Some early morning a cry rings through the group of black square tents.

He springs from his dreams of green gardens and flowing waters, and

stands sternly against the hostile tribe which has surprised his own.

The remorseless morning secretes in desert silence the clash of swords,

the ring of musketry, the battle-cry. At sunset the black square tents

are gone, the desolation of silence fills the air that was musical with

the recited loves of Zul-Himmeh, and the light sand drifts in the

evening wind over the corpse of a Bedoueen.

--So the grim Genius of the desert touches every stop of romance and of

life in you as you traverse his realm and meditate his children. Yet

warm and fascinating as is his breath, it does not warp your loyalty to

your native West, and to the time in which you were born. Springing from

your hard bed upon the desert, and with wild morning enthusiasm pushing

aside the door of your tent, and stepping out to stand among the stars,

you hail the desert and hate the city, and glancing toward the tent of

the Armenian Khadra, you shout aloud to astonished MacWhirter,

"I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race."

But as the day draws forward, and you see the same forms and the same

life that Abraham saw, and know that Joseph leading Mary into Egypt

might pass you to-day, nor be aware of more than a single sunset since

he passed before, then you feel that this germ, changeless at home, is

only developed elsewhere--that the boundless desert freedom is only a

resultless romance.

The sun sets and the camp is pitched. The shadows are grateful to your

eye, as the dry air to your lungs. But as you sit quietly in the

tent-door, watching the Armenian camp and the camels, your cheeks pales

suddenly as you remember Abraham, and that "he sat in the tent-door in

the heat of the day." Saving yourself, what of the scene is changed

since then? The desert, the camels, the tents, the turbaned Arabs, they

were what Abraham saw when "he lifted up his eyes and looked, and, lo!

three men stood by him."

You are contemporary with the eldest history. Your companions are the

dusky figures of vaguest tradition. The "long result of Time," is not

for you. In that moment you have lost your birthright. You are Ishmael's

brother. You have your morning's wish. A child of the desert, not for

you are Art, and Poetry, and Science, and the glowing roll of History

shrivels away.

The dream passes as the day dies, and to the same stars which heard your

morning shout of desert praise, you whisper as you close the tent-door

at evening,

"Better fifty years of Europe, than a cycle of Cathay."

MOHAMMAD ALEE.

I do not wonder that Mohammad Alee burned to be master of Syria, and

struck so bravely for it.

His career was necessarily but a brilliant bubble, and his success

purely personal. That career was passed before the West fairly

understood it. It was easier for the Jews to believe good from Nazareth

than for us to credit genius in Egypt, and we should as soon have

dreamed of old mummied Cheops throned upon the great pyramid and ruling

the Pharaohs' realm anew, as of a modern king there, of kingliness

unsurpassed in the century, except by Napoleon, working at every

disadvantage, yet achieving incredible results.

He was the son of a fisherman--made his way by military

skill--recognized the inherent instability of the Mameluke government

then absolute in Egypt, and which was only a witless tyranny, sure to

fall before ambitious sense and skill. He propitiated the Sublime Porte,

whose Viceroy in Egypt was only a puppet of state, practically

imprisoned by the Mamelukes in the citadel--and he gained brilliant

victories in the Hedjaz, over the Wahabys, infidel and schismatic

Muslim.

In 1811, he accomplished the famous massacre of the Mamelukes in the

court of the citadel, of which Horace Vernet has painted so

characteristic a picture, and for which Mohammad Alee has been much

execrated.

But in Turkish politics, humanity is only a question of degree. With

Mohammad Alee and the Mamelukes it was diamond cut diamond. They were a

congregation of pestilent vapors, a nest of hoary-headed tyrants, whom

it was a satisfaction to Humanity and Decency to smoke out and

suffocate in any way. Mohammad Alee had doubtless little enough

rose-water in his policy to satisfy the grimmest Carlyle. The leader of

sanguinary Albanians and imbruted Egyptians against wild Arab hordes is

not likely to be of a delicate stomach.

But he was clear-eyed and large-minded. He had the genius of a statesman

rather than the shrewdness of a general, although as a soldier he was

singularly brave and successful. Of all his acts the massacre of the

Mamelukes was perhaps the least bloody, because, by crushing the few

heads he had won the victory. A sudden and well-advised bloodshed is

often sure to issue in a peace which saves greater misery. It was

Cromwell's rule and it was Napoleon's--it was also Mohammad Alee's, and

the results usually proved its wisdom.

Moreover, in the matter of this massacre, the balance of sympathy is

restored by the fact that only a short time previous to the Mamelukes'

Banquet of Death in the citadel, they had arranged Mohammad Alee's

assassination upon his leaving Suez. By superior cunning he ascertained

the details of this pleasant plan, and publicly ordered his departure

for the following morning, but privately departed upon a swift-trotting

dromedary in the evening. There was great consequent frustration of plan

and confusion of soul among the Mamelukes, who had thought, in this

ingenious manner, to cut the knot of difficulty, and they were only too

glad to hurry with smooth faces to the Pacha's festival--too much in a

hurry, indeed, to reflect upon his superior cunning and to be afraid of

it. They lost the game. They were the diamond cut, and evidently deserve

no melodious tear.

Mohammad Alee thus sat as securely in his seat as a Turkish Pacha can

ever hope to sit. He assisted the Porte in the Greek troubles,

perpetrating other massacres there; and afterward, when Abdallah, Pacha

of Acre, rebelled against "the Shadow," Mohammad Alee was sent to subdue

him. He did so, and then interceded with the Porte for Abdallah's

safety.

Meanwhile, Mohammad Alee had ascertained his force, and was already sure

of the genius to direct it. He had turned the streams of French and

English skill into the agriculture, manufactures, and military

discipline of Egypt. His great aim for years had been to make Egypt

independent--to revive the ancient richness of the Nile valley, and to

take a place for Egypt among the markets of the world. He accomplished

this so far, that, restoring to the plain of Thebes the indigo which was

once famous there, he poured into the European market so much and so

good indigo that the market was sensibly affected. His internal policy

was wrong, but we can not here consider it.

Watching and waiting, in the midst of this internal prosperity and

foreign success and amazement, while Egyptian youth were thronging to

the Parisian Universities, and the Parisian youth looked to Egypt as the

career of fame and fortune--as the young Spaniards of a certain period

looked to the diamond-dusted Americas--in the midst of all the web

Mohammad Alee sat nursing his ambition and biding his time.

Across the intervening desert, Syria wooed him to take her for his

slave. Who was there to make him afraid? Leaning on Lebanon, and laving

her beautiful feet in the sea, she fascinated him with love. He should

taste boundless sway. Eastward lay Bagdad and Persia, thrones of Caliphs

who once sat in his seat--why should not he sit in theirs? Then with

softer whispers she pointed to the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus, and

looked what she dared not speak.

I do not wonder that he was enchanted. I do not wonder that he burned to

be master of the superb slave that lay so lovely and fair in the sun,

dreaming, as now we see her dream, under the vines and olives. His peer,

Napoleon Bonaparte, against whom, in Egypt, his maiden sword was

fleshed, whom he loved to name and to hear that they were born in the

same year, had thus seen from Elba the gorgeous Fata-Morgana of European

empire. How could Mohammad Alee reflect that sallying forth to grasp it,

that peer had bitten the dust? That fate deterred the Pacha, as the

experience of others always deters ourselves--as a blade of grass stays

the wind. Shall not you and I, my reader, swim to our Heros, though a

thousand Leanders never came to shore?

It was this Syria through which we plod, this brilliant morning, that

seduced Mohammad Alee.

A land of glorious resources and without a population. Here grow wheat,

rye, barley, beans and the cotton plant. Oats are rare; but Palestine

produces sesame and dourra, a kind of pulse like lentils. Baalbec grows

maize. Sugar and rice are not unknown at Beyrout. Lebanon is wreathed

with vines. Indigo flourishes without cultivation on the banks of the

Jordan. The Druses cultivate the white mulberry. Gaza has dates like

those of Mecca, and pomegranates as fine as those of Algiers. Figs and

bananas make the gardens of Antioch tropical. From Aleppo come

pistachio-nuts. The almond, the olive and the orange thrive in the

kindly air; and Damascus revels in twenty kinds of apricot, with all the

best fruits of France.

Many of the inhabitants pass us, and we can see what they are. They are

repulsive in appearance, the dregs of refuse races. They look mean and

treacherous, and would offer small resistance to determination and

skill. Mohammad Alee had little fear of the Syrians.

He could not resist the song of the Siren; and suddenly "the Eastern

Question" agitated political Europe, and the diplomatic genius of the

three greatest states--England, France and Russia--was abruptly

challenged by the alarming aspect of the Syrian war, which threatened,

with a leader despising the political stagnation and military imbecility

of the vast realm of "the Shadow of God on Earth," to issue in a new

empire.

Mohammad Alee having subdued Abdallah, Pacha of Acre, and saved his

life and throne by intercession with the Porte, was surprised that

Abdallah harbored all fugitives from Egypt. He observed that, following

his own example, Abdallah was introducing the European discipline into

his army, and was enticing into his service many young officers who had

been Europeanly instructed at his own expense. He expostulated with

Abdallah, and appealed to the Porte. The Sublime Porte, like other

political Sublimities, hesitated, meditated--

"Then idly twirled his golden chain,

And smiling, put the question by."

Mohammad Alee, with expectant eyes fixed upon Syria, sat silent, his

hand trembling with eagerness and ready to grasp the splendid prize.

"The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces" of a new oriental empire

rose, possible in the light of hope.

His army was carefully disciplined. The fame of its tried officers had

been won upon the battle-fields of the Empire. He had a fleet and all

the resources of the latest military and marine science. Over all, he

had his son Ibrahim, already proved in Arabia and Greece, of a military

genius peculiarly Oriental, swift and stern, rude in thought, but

irresistible in action--the slave of his father's ambition, the iron

right-hand of his will. Internal prosperity and external prestige sealed

Mohammad Alee's hope and determination.

Against him was arrayed the worldly magnificence of the Ottoman Porte.

But the bannered Muslim lance that had thundered at the gates of

Constantinople, and entering, had planted itself upon the earliest

Christian church, and flapped barbaric defiance at civilization, was

rusty and worm-eaten. Its crimson drapery fluttering, rent, upon an idle

wind, would be inevitably shivered by the first rough blow of modern

steel.

And the great Powers?--

Their action was, of course, doubtful. There was a chance of opposition,

a probability of interference. But the grandeur of the stroke was its

safety. From the universal chaos what new combinations might not be

educed!

No sooner, therefore, had the Porte "put the question by," than Mohammad

Alee proceeded to answer it. The Egyptian army, headed by Ibrahim Pacha,

advanced into Syria, and sat down before Acre. Cherishing the old grudge

against Abdallah, the Porte, now that a decided part had been taken,

smiled faintly in approval. But the conduct of the war betrayed

resources of ability and means which kindled terrible suspicions. The

firman came from Stamboul, commanding the Pacha of Egypt to withdraw

into his own province. He declined, and was declared a rebel.

The bridge thus fell behind him, and only victory or death lay before.

For six months Ibrahim Pacha lay before Acre, and on the 27th May, 1832,

he entered by bloody assault the city which Richard Coeur de Lion and

Philip Augustus had conquered before him, and from which Napoleon

Bonaparte had retired foiled. The Syrian war began.

The victorious army advanced, triumphing. The Syrian cities fell before

it. The stream of conquest swept northward, overflowing Damascus as it

passed. The war was no longer a quarrel of two Pachas, it was a question

of life or death for the Turkish Empire. Vainly the Sultan's choicest

generals struggled to stem the torrent. The proud walls along the Golden

Horn trembled, lest their pride should be for the third time humbled,

and this time, as the last, from the Asian shore.

Northern and Western Europe stared amazed at the wonderful spectacle,

listening across the hushed Mediterranean to the clang of arms

resounding in the effete East, as the appalled Romans heard the gusty

roar of the battle of the Huns high over them, and invisible in the air.

Surely it was only the interference of the three Powers that saved the

Sultan's throne. That alone deprived us of the pageant of another

oriental military romance, so rapid in inception, so entire in

execution, that we should have better comprehended those sudden,

barbaric descents of the middle ages, which changed in a moment the

political aspect of the invaded land:--in a moment, because the mighty

appearance of life and power was but a mummy, which a blow would

pulverize.

One man, however strong and skillful, could not withstand the force of

Europe, and Mohammad Alee retired, baffled, before the leaders of the

political Trinity that a few years before had dethroned Napoleon.

The crisis of his life was passed, and unfavorably for his hopes and

aims. At the age of sixty-five he relinquished the struggle with Fate,

and still one of the great men of a century, rich in great men, with no

hope before him, and none behind--for since kingly genius is not

hereditary, your divine right is a disastrous fiction--he sank slowly

away into dotage.

Before the end, however, both he and his son Ibrahim showed themselves

to the Europeans who had watched with such astonished interest the

culmination and decay of their power. Ibrahim Pacha, with his fangs

removed, shook his harmless rattle, for the last time in the world's

hearing, at a dinner given him by young Englishmen, at the Reform Club

in Pall Mall, and the wreck of Mohammad Alee, driveling and dozing, took

a hand at whist with young Americans in a hotel at Naples.

Father and son returned to Egypt and died there. A vast mosque of

alabaster, commenced by Mohammad Alee, and now finished, crowns Cairo,

"the delight of the imagination." He wished to be 'buried there; but he

lies without the city walls, in that suburb of tombs, upon the cracked

sides of one of which a Persian poet has written--"Each crevice of this

ancient edifice is a half-opened mouth, that laughs at the fleeting pomp

of royal abodes."

All the winds that blow upon Cairo, laugh that mocking laughter, and in

any thoughtful mood, as you listen to them and look over the city, you

will mark the two alabaster minarets of Mohammad Alee's mosque, shafts

of snow in the rich blue air, if you will, but yet pointing upward.

Leaning on Lebanon, and laving her beautiful feet in the sea, the superb

slave he burned to possess, still dreams in the sun. We look from the

tent door and see her sleeping, and the remembrance of this last,

momentary interest which disturbed the slumber, reminds us that it will

one day be broken. So fair is the prize, that, knowing all others desire

her as ardently, no single hand feels strong enough to grasp it, and the

conflict of many ambitions secures her peace.

Yet it is clear that nerve and skill could do what they have done, and

so spare is the population, so imbecile the government, and so rich the

soil, that a few thousand determined men could march unresisted through

Syria, and possess the fair and fertile land.

BAZAARS.

Christians and Saracens agree in reprobating the black hat. But the

Damascenes declare open war against it. In 1432, Bertrandon de la

Brocquière entered the city with a "broad beaver hat," which was

incontinently knocked off his head. Naturally his first movement was "to

lift my fist," but wisdom held his hand, and he desisted, content to

revenge himself by the questionable inference that it was "a wicked

race."

But if it be "wicked" to malign the black hat, who shall be justified?

This was only a gentle illustration of the bitter hatred of Christians

and all infidels, cherished by the Damascenes, who are the most orthodox

of Muslim. Indeed, it is only within twenty years that an accredited

English representative could reside in Damascus, and he maintains an

imposing state. At present, some hundred European tourists visit the

city yearly, and the devout faithful find reasons for toleration in

infidel gold, which they never found in argument.