The Boys' Book of Rulers

We have no space for details; the battles of Castiglione, Arcola, and the bloody conflict of Rivoli had been fought. The imperial court had sent out five armies against the French Republicans, and had encountered defeat and destruction at the hands of the beardless general, who they had disdainfully declared knew nothing about war tactics. Mantua had fallen, and the Austrians were driven from Italy. The Pope implored the clemency of the conqueror. But the Italian people everywhere hailed him as their deliverer. Still Austria refused to make peace with republican France, and the march to Vienna was commenced. Again one of those soul-stirring, inspiring proclamations was issued to his troops.

“Soldiers, the campaign just ended has given you imperishable renown. You have been victorious in fourteen pitched battles and seventy actions. You have taken more than a hundred thousand prisoners, five hundred field-pieces, two thousand heavy guns, and four pontoon trains. You have maintained the army during the whole campaign. In addition to this, you have sent six millions of dollars to the public treasury, and have enriched the National Museum with three hundred masterpieces of the art of ancient and modern Italy, which it has required thirty centuries to produce. You have conquered the finest countries of Europe. The French flag waves for the first time upon the Adriatic, opposite to Macedon, the native country of Alexander. Still higher destinies await you. I know that you will not prove unworthy of them. Of all the foes that conspired to stifle the Republic in its birth, the Austrian emperor alone remains before you. To obtain peace we must seek it in the heart of his hereditary state. You will there find a brave people, whose religion and customs you will respect, and whose property you will hold sacred. Remember that it is liberty you carry to the brave Hungarian nation.”

As he had to the Italian people, so also to the Austrian people Napoleon issued one of his glowing proclamations, assuring them that he was fighting not for conquest but for peace; that the people of Austria would find in him a protector, who would respect their religion and defend all their rights.

All was consternation in Vienna. The people clamored for peace, and the Austrian emperor sent ambassadors to Napoleon. A treaty was signed, and Austria was conquered. Not a year had elapsed since this nameless young man of twenty-six, with thirty thousand ragged, starving troops, had dauntlessly undertaken this seemingly impossible enterprise. Now Italy was at his feet. Austria was forced to come to terms. All his foes were stunned into terror-stricken inaction.

Before the treaty of Campo Formio was signed, every possible endeavor was made to bribe Napoleon to make terms which should conduce to the advantage of his foes. The wealth of Europe was laid at his feet. Millions upon millions of gold were offered to him, but his noble spirit could not thus be tarnished.

Napoleon arrived in Paris on the 7th of December, 1797, having been absent about eighteen months. The Directory, jealous of Napoleon’s power and popularity, were forced by the enthusiasm of the people to prepare a triumphal festival for the delivery of the treaty of Campo Formio.

The magnificent palace of the Luxembourg was adorned for this gorgeous show. The walls were hung with glittering trophies; the vast galleries were crowded with those illustrious in rank; martial music rang out upon the air, and the thunders of the cannon mingled with the enthusiastic shouts of the rejoicing multitudes. Napoleon was introduced by Talleyrand in an eloquent speech. Calmly the great hero stood before the assembled multitude. His imposing presence required not the trappings of the bedecked and bejewelled grandees of the court. Majestic was his calm dignity as he addressed the people: —

“Citizens! the French people in order to be free had kings to combat. To obtain a constitution founded on reason, it had the prejudices of eighteen centuries to overcome. Priestcraft, feudalism, despotism, have successively, for two thousand years, governed Europe. From the peace you have just concluded dates the era of representative governments. You have succeeded in organizing a great nation, whose vast territory is circumscribed only because Nature herself has fixed its limits. You have done more. The two finest countries in Europe – formerly so renowned for the arts, the sciences, and the illustrious men whose cradle they were – see with the greatest hopes genius and freedom issuing from the tomb of their ancestors. I have the honor to deliver to you the treaty signed at Campo Formio, and ratified by the emperor. Peace secures the liberty, the prosperity, and the glory of the Republic. As soon as the happiness of France is secured by the best organic laws, the whole of Europe will be free.”

A wild burst of enthusiasm filled the air as Napoleon ceased speaking. The people shouted, “Live Napoleon, the conqueror of Italy, the pacificator of Europe, the saviour of France!”

Napoleon now laid aside the dress of a soldier. He attended constantly the meetings of the Institute, and immediately assumed a pre-eminence amongst those distinguished scholars as marked as he had already attained as a general.

Republican France was now at peace with all the world, England alone excepted. The Directory raised an army for the invasion of England, and gave Napoleon the command. Republicans all over Europe, England included, adored Napoleon as the great champion of popular rights. England trembled. It was necessary that the people should be taught to hate this man whom they now worshipped. The English press came to the rescue of the English government. The most malign and atrocious lies were published regarding Napoleon. He was represented as a demon in human form; a monster of profligacy and tyrannical ambition; a robber, plundering the nations for his own selfish aggrandizement. Regarding these bitter and false libels Napoleon said: “There is not one which will reach posterity. When I have been asked to cause answers to be written to them, I have uniformly replied, ‘My victories and my works of public improvement are the only response which it becomes me to make.’ When there shall not be a trace of these libels to be found, the great monuments of utility which I have reared, and the code of laws that I have formed, will descend to the most remote ages, and future historians will avenge the wrongs done me by my contemporaries.” Napoleon deeming an attack upon England too hazardous, the project was abandoned.

Then followed Napoleon’s expedition into Egypt. Volumes could be written upon each one of Napoleon’s marvellous campaigns, but we can merely give a slight outline. The famous battle of the Pyramids made Napoleon the undisputed conqueror of Egypt. “Soldiers!” he exclaimed, as he rode along the ranks, “from those summits forty centuries contemplate your actions.”

The name of Napoleon became suddenly as renowned in Asia and Africa as it had previously become in Europe. But twenty-one days had elapsed since he landed at Alexandria, and now he was sovereign of Egypt. The Egyptians welcomed him as a friend and liberator. He disclaimed all sovereignty over Egypt, and organized a government to be administered by the people themselves. In the mean time Lord Nelson learned that the French had landed in Egypt. He immediately proceeded thither. The famous battle of the Nile followed, in which the English were victorious. The French fleet had been destroyed, and Napoleon was cut off from Europe. All monarchical Europe rejoiced; all republican Europe mourned. Napoleon now undertook the Syrian expedition. With ten thousand men he commenced his march over the desert. We cannot describe their weary march through the burning sands, their sufferings from want, and the dreadful plague which soon broke out in the army. We can only note the siege of Acre. The subjugation of this fortress would have made Napoleon master of Syria. Sir Sidney Smith conducted the defence with the combined English and Turkish troops. It was here that the marvellous affection of Napoleon’s soldiers for their general was tested. Sir Sidney Smith circulated a proclamation, offering to convey every French soldier safely to France who would desert Napoleon. It is not known that a single man was false to Napoleon, whom all adored as a being seemingly more than mortal.

The siege had continued for sixty days. Napoleon had lost three thousand men by the sword and the plague. At this time fresh Turkish troops arrived to join his enemies; and deeming the enterprise hopeless, Napoleon abandoned the siege. Napoleon was as great in defeat as in success. Speaking of his power to endure trials, he said: “Nature seems to have calculated that I should endure great reverses. She has given me a mind of marble. Thunder cannot ruffle it. The shaft merely glides along.”

At midnight, on the 25th of July, 1799, Napoleon, with six thousand men, arrived within sight of the camp of the Turks, upon the shores of the Bay of Aboukir. Napoleon knew that the Turks were awaiting the arrival of the Mameluke cavalry from Egypt and of re-enforcements from Acre and other parts of Syria. Defeat to Napoleon now would have been utter ruin. But the terrific conflict which followed was not a defeat, but a victory so complete that the whole Turkish army was destroyed. Sir Sidney Smith fled in terror to his ships. Not a foe remained. In the enthusiasm of the moment, Kleber, who had just arrived with a division of two thousand men, for whom Napoleon had not waited, threw his arms around the neck of his adored chieftain, exclaiming, “Let me embrace you, my general; you are great as the universe!”

Napoleon now learned that France was in a terrible state of confusion. The imbecile government was despised. Plots, conspiracies, and assassinations filled the land. Napoleon determined to return to France. As he had no fleet, he could not take his army. The matter was therefore concealed from them. With a small retinue, Napoleon embarked, and sailed to France. Then followed the overthrow of the Directory. France had tried republicanism, and the experiment had failed. The people were too ignorant to govern themselves. The next morning after the overthrow of the Directory, the three consuls, Napoleon, Sièyes, and Ducos, met in the palace of the Luxembourg.

There was but one arm-chair in the room. Napoleon had seated himself in it. Sièyes exclaimed, “Gentlemen, who shall take the chair?”

“Bonaparte, surely,” said Ducos; “he already has it. He is the only man who can save us.”

“Very well, gentlemen,” said Napoleon, promptly; “let us proceed to business.”

And important business he soon despatched. The revolutionary tribunals had closed the churches and prohibited the observance of the Sabbath. Napoleon recalled the banished priests, opened the churches, and restored religious worship. The treasury was bankrupt. Napoleon replenished it. The army was starving and ragged. Napoleon addressed them with his thrilling words of sympathy, and clothed and fed them. The navy was dilapidated. In every port in France, at the magic word of this magnetic man, the sound of the ship-hammer was heard, and a fleet was prepared to send to Egypt to convey to France his soldiers left there. The Constitution was framed and adopted, and Napoleon was elected First Consul of France. Civil war was now at an end. Napoleon wrote two letters, one to the king of England, and the other to the emperor of Germany, endeavoring to arrange a general peace. Austria was inclined to listen to this appeal, but England demanded war. She would have no peace while France continued a republic. So Napoleon was forced to prepare for war.

“Moreau was sent with a magnificent army into Swabia, to drive back the Austrians towards their capital; Massena was appointed over the army of Italy, while Napoleon himself swept down from the heights of San Bernard, upon the plains of Lombardy.

“At the fierce-fought battle of Marengo he reconquered Italy, while Moreau chased the vanquished Austrians over the Danube. Victory everywhere perched on the French standards, and Austria was ready to agree to an armistice, in order to recover from the disasters she had suffered. The slain at Montibello, around Genoa, on the plains of Marengo, in the Black Forest, and along the Danube are to be charged over to the British government, which refused peace in order to fight for the philanthropic purpose of giving security to governments.

“Austria, though crippled, let the armistice wear away, refusing to make a treaty because she was bound for seven months longer to England. Bonaparte, in the mean time, was preparing to recommence hostilities. Finding himself unable to conclude a peace, he opened the campaign of Hohenlinden, and sent Macdonald across the Splugen. Moreau’s victorious march through Austria, and the success of the operations in Italy, soon brought Austria to terms, and the celebrated peace of Luneville, of 1801, was signed. The energy and ability, and above all, the success of the First Consul had now forced the continental powers to regard him with respect, and in some cases with sympathy, while England, by her imperious demands, had embroiled herself with all the northern powers of Europe.”

At length a general peace was concluded at Amiens, and the world was at rest. Napoleon was now the idol of France. Although his title was only that of First Consul, and France was nominally a republic, yet he was in reality the most powerful monarch in Europe. He ruled in the hearts of forty millions of people. In 1803 the peace of Amiens was broken, and all impartial historians admit, and even English writers cannot deny the responsibility of this rupture rests with England. In that treaty it was expressly stipulated that England should evacuate Egypt and Malta, while France was to evacuate Naples, Tarento, and the Roman States. Napoleon had fulfilled his part of the agreement within two months after the peace. But the English were still in Alexandria and Malta. Napoleon was right, and England was entirely wrong. If a violation of a solemn treaty is a just cause for war, Napoleon was free from blame. England now drew Russia into this new alliance, then Austria and Sweden. Prussia refused to join the alliance, and sided with France. The bloody conflict began. For the slain left on the plains of Italy, for the tens of thousands strewn on the battle-field of Austerlitz, who is chargeable? Neither Napoleon nor France. Napier, in his “Peninsular War,” says:

“Up to the peace of Tilsit, the wars of France were essentially defensive; for the bloody contest that wasted the continent for so many years was not a struggle for pre-eminence between ambitious powers, nor for the political ascendency of one or other nation, but a deadly conflict to determine whether aristocracy or democracy should predominate, – whether equality or privilege should henceforth be the principle of European governments.”

“But how much does this ‘up to the peace of Tilsit’ embrace? First, all the first wars of the French Republic, – the campaigns of 1792, ’93, ’94, ’95, and the carnage and woe that made up their history; second, eleven out of the eighteen years of Bonaparte’s career, – the campaigns of 1796, in Italy and Germany, the battles of Montenotte, Millesimo, Dego, Lodi, Arcola, Castiglione, and Rivoli, the campaigns of 1797, and the bloody battle-fields that marked their progress. It embraces the wars in Italy and Switzerland while Bonaparte was in Egypt; the campaign of Marengo, and its carnage; the havoc around and in Genoa; the slain thousands that strewed the Black Forest and the banks of the Danube, where Moreau struggled so heroically; the campaign of Hohenlinden, and its losses. And yet this is but a fraction to what remains. This period takes in also the campaign of Austerlitz and its bloody battle, and the havoc the hand of war was making in Italy; the campaign of Jena, and the fierce conflicts that accompanied it; the campaign of Eylau and the battles of Pultusk, Golymin, Heilsberg, crowned by the dreadful slaughter of Eylau; the campaigns of Friedland and Tilsit, and the multitudes they left on the plains of Europe. All these terrible campaigns, with their immense slaughter, does an English historian declare to be the result of a defensive war on the part of France, not merely a defence of territory, but of human rights against tyranny. Let republicans ponder this before they adopt the sentiments of prejudiced historians, and condemn as a monster the man who was toiling over battle-fields to save his country from banded oppressors.”

The 2d of December, 1804, dawned clear and cold. It was Sunday, and upon this day Napoleon was to be crowned emperor at the church of Nôtre Dame. All Paris assembled to witness this imposing ceremony. The church was draped in costly velvet of richest hues. At one end a gorgeous throne was erected. The Emperor left the Tuileries in a splendid carriage, whose sides were of glass, thus allowing his magnificent robes to be seen. He wore a golden laurel wreath upon his head.

The acclamations of the immense crowds thronging the streets filled the air. As Napoleon entered the church, five hundred musicians intoned a solemn chant. The Pope anointed the Emperor and blessed the sword and the sceptre. Then Napoleon lifted the crown and placed it upon his own head. Napoleon then took up the crown intended for the Empress, and approaching Josephine as she knelt before him, he placed it tenderly upon her brow. Their eyes met for one moment in a long and loving gaze of mutual affection, and tears filled the eyes of the beautiful Josephine as she glanced with undisguised adoration upon the husband she so reverenced and worshipped. And the lofty arches of Nôtre Dame resounded with shouts of “Vive l’Empereur!”

The Cisalpine Republic had witnessed the change of France from a republic to an empire with great satisfaction. A deputation from Italy was now sent to Napoleon, begging him to assume the crown of Charlemagne. On the 20th of May, the coronation took place in the Cathedral of Milan. The ceremony was conducted with a magnificence not exceeded at Nôtre Dame. The iron crown of Charlemagne had reposed for a thousand years in the church of Monza. The Empress first appeared gorgeously dressed and glittering with jewels. Then Napoleon entered, arrayed in imperial robes, with the diadem upon his brow and the sceptre and crown of Charlemagne in his hands. He placed the crown upon his own head, saying, solemnly, “God has given it to me; woe to him who touches it!”

Meanwhile, hostilities had commenced in the midst of Germany. Austria and Russia had united with England. The Austrians had passed the Inn; Munich was invaded; war was inevitable.

Then followed the campaign of Ulm. Napoleon writes to Josephine, Dec. 5, 1805: —

“I have concluded a truce. The Russians have implored it. The victory of Austerlitz is the most illustrious of all which I have gained. We have taken forty-five flags, 150 pieces of cannon, and twenty generals. More than 20,000 are slain. It is an awful spectacle. I have beaten the Russian and Austrian armies commanded by the two emperors.”

In 1806 England, Russia, and Prussia formed a new alliance against the French. Then followed the bloody battles of Jena and Auerstadt. On the 28th of October Napoleon made a triumphal entry into Berlin, and established himself in the king’s palace. While there he visited the tomb of Frederick the Great, at Potsdam. The sword of the Prussian was suspended over his grave. Napoleon took it down, saying, “I will send it to the governor of the Invalides.” General Rapp ventured to reply, “Were I in your place, I should not be willing to part with this sword. I should keep it for myself.”

Napoleon jestingly answered, “Have I not then a sword of my own, Mr. Giver of Advice?” The Prussian monarchy was destroyed upon the fields of Jena and of Auerstadt. But England and Russia were yet clamorous for war. Again Napoleon tried to make overture for peace, again he was repulsed. Then followed the terrible battle-field of Eylau. Amid winter’s snow and ice and storms this famous battle was won. As Napoleon passed over the gory field after the awful carnage, he exclaimed with deep emotion, “To a father who loses his children victory has no charms.”

A dragoon, dreadfully shattered and bleeding from the effects of a cannon ball, raised his head from the bloody snow, and faintly said, “Turn your eyes this way, please your Majesty. I believe that I have got my death wound. I shall soon be in the other world. But no matter for that; vive l’Empereur!”

Napoleon immediately dismounted from his horse and took the hand of the wounded man, telling his aids to carry him to the ambulance. Large tears rolled down the cheeks of the dying dragoon, as he fixed his eyes upon that loved face, fervently exclaiming, “I only wish I had a thousand lives to lay down for your majesty.” Amidst a heap of dead, a feeble voice was heard crying, “Vive l’Empereur!” Half-concealed beneath a tattered flag lay a young officer. As Napoleon approached, he raised himself upon his elbow, though pierced with numerous wounds, and faintly cried: “God bless your majesty! farewell, farewell! Oh, my poor mother! To dear France my last sigh!” and falling back, was dead. Upon this dreadful battle-field, though it was after midnight, he wrote this fond note to Josephine: —

My Love, – There was a great battle yesterday. Victory remains with me, but I have lost many men. The loss of the enemy, still more considerable, does not console me. I write these two lines myself, though greatly fatigued, to tell you that I am well, and that I love you. Wholly thine,

The peace of Tilsit was finally concluded, and Napoleon returned to Paris.

The French government at this time was composed of three houses, – the Senate, the Tribunate, and the Legislature. Napoleon blended the Tribunate and the Legislature in one. He formed the Council of State, or Cabinet, with the greatest care, choosing the most able men in every department. The meetings of the Council were held in the palace of the Tuileries or at St. Cloud. The most perfect freedom of discussion prevailed in the Council.

In September, 1808, occurred the memorable meeting of the emperors at Erfurth. Kings, princes, and courtiers came from all parts of Europe to witness the extraordinary spectacle. Napoleon was the gracious host who received them as his guests. No more gorgeous retinue had ever followed a monarch of the blood royal than surrounded the Emperor Napoleon as he left Paris for the appointed place of meeting. Amid all the royal magnificence which attended these imperial sovereigns, none appeared so majestic, so supremely commanding in their personal presence as Napoleon the Plebeian Monarch, who had raised himself by his own surprising and irresistible genius to the proudest place amidst the courts of Europe.

All the other sovereigns trembled before his amazing power; the imperialism of mind and genius compelled the homage of royal titles and royal blood.

We do not uphold that Napoleon’s career was free from error, and no greater blot tarnishes the brightness of his fame than his divorce of Josephine. From that moment Napoleon fell. From that moment Josephine mounted an eminence of self-sacrificing, unselfish devotion, of heart-martyrdom, never reached by woman before. Women have died for their husbands; but this was worse than death. Women have slaved and toiled, and been down-trodden by brutal husbands; but this was worse than that. Never before had woman stepped from so high an eminence of bliss into so deep an abyss of heart-desolating woe, and with self-renouncing, almost inconceivable, womanly devotion, allowed her royal place as wife to be taken by another, that thus a supposed political power might be gained by the idolized object of her affection; who, even though his cruel demand thus shattered her hopes, her heart, and her life, she was still unselfish enough to glory in her self-renunciatory sacrifice, for the still adored object of her love. No political excuse can cover this crime committed by Napoleon at the instigation of Fouché and other ambitious adherents, and worst of all, at the instigation of his own relations, whom historians acknowledge were the bitter enemies of his wife. No laxity of the times, in the sacred laws of marriage, which are the most solemn vows that human beings can take upon themselves, next to their vows to God, can excuse this blot upon Napoleon’s fame. By the very eminence of his genius above all other men, by the very exaltation of his lofty position, should he have made himself the model as an upholder, not a desecrator, of the most sacred human relation ever ordained by God.