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on's vocabulary was not
specially wide, but always exact. In expletive it was extensive
and peculiar. Judging his brother by himself, he did not consider
Lucien sufficient of a purist in French literature to write epics;
and the same remark would have been partly true of the Emperor,
who, however, was always at considerable pains to verify any word
of which he did not know the exact meaning.[6] His own appetite
for literature was enormous, especially during the year's garrison
life he spent at Valence, where he read and re-read the contents of a
_bouquiniste's_ shop, and, what is more, remembered them, so much so
that, nearly a quarter of a century later, he was able to correct the
dates of ecclesiastical experts at Erfurt. Whatever he says or
whatever he writes, one always finds a specific gravity of stark,
staring facts altogether abnormal. For generations it was the fashion
to consider "as false as a bulletin" peculiar to Napoleon's
despatches; but the publication of Napoleon's correspondence, by
order of Napoleon III., has changed all that. In the first place,
as to dates. Not only have Haydn, Woodward and Cates, and the
_Encyclopaedia Britannica_ made mistakes during this period, but
even the _Biographie Universelle_ (usually so careful) is not
immaculate. Secondly, with regard to the descriptions of the battles.
We have never found one that in accuracy and truthfulness would
not compare to conspicuous advantage with some of those with which
we were only too familiar in December 1899. Napoleon was sometimes
1200 miles away from home; he had to gauge the effect of his
bulletins from one end to the other of the largest effective empire
that the world has ever seen, and, like Dr. Johnson in Fleet
Street reporting Parliamentary debates (but with a hundred times more
reason), he was determined not to let the other dogs have the best of
it. The notes on the battles of Eylau (Series H) and Essling (Series
L), the two most conspicuous examples of where it was necessary to
colour the bulletins, will show what is meant. Carlyle was the first
to point out that his despatches are as instinct with genius as his
conquests--his very words have "Austerlitz battles" in them. The
reference to "General Danube," in 1809, as the best general the
Austrians had, was one of those flashes of inspiration which
military writers, from Napoleon to Lord Wolseley, have shown to be
a determining factor in every doubtful fray.

"_Approfondissez_--go to the bottom of things," wrote Lord Chesterfield;
and this might have been the life-motto of the Emperor. But to adopt
this fundamental common-sense with regard to the character of Napoleon
is almost impossible; it is, to use the metaphor of Lord Rosebery,
like trying to span a mountain with a tape. We can but indicate a few
leading features. In the first place, he had, like the great
Stagirite, an eye at once telescopic and microscopic. Beyond the
_mecanique celeste_, beyond the nebulous reign of chaos and old night,
his ken pierced the primal truth--the need of a Creator: "not every
one can be an atheist who wishes it." No man saw deeper into the causes
of things. The influence of sea power on history, to take one
example, was never absent from his thoughts. Slowly and laboriously he
built and rebuilt his fleets, only to fall into the hands of his "Punic"
rival. Beaten at sea, he has but two weapons left against England--to
"conquer her by land," or to stir up a maritime rival who will sooner
or later avenge him. We have the Emperor Alexander's testimony from
the merchants of Manchester, Birmingham, and Liverpool how nearly his
Continental System _had_ ruined us. The rival raised up beyond the
western waves by the astute sale of Louisiana is still growing. In less
than a decade Napoleon had a first crumb of comfort (when such crumbs
were rare) in hearing of the victories of the _Constitution_ over
British frigates.

As for his microscopic eye, we know of nothing like it in all history.
In focussing the facets, we seem to shadow out the main secret of his
success--his ceaseless survey of all sorts and conditions of
knowledge. "Never despise local information," he wrote Murat, who was
at Naples, little anticipating the extremes of good and evil fortune
which awaited him there. Another characteristic--one in which he
surpassed alike the theory of Macchiavelli and the practice of the
Medici--was his use of _la bascule_, with himself as equilibrist or
average adjuster, as the only safe principle of government. Opinions
on the whole[7] lean to the idea that, up to the First Consulate,
Napoleon was an active Freemason, at a time when politics were
permitted, and when the Grand Orient, having initiated Voltaire almost
on his deathbed, and having been submerged by the Terror, was
beginning to show new life. In any case, we have in O'Meara the
Emperor's statement (and this is rather against the theory of Napoleon
being more than his brother Joseph, a mere patron of the craft) that
he encouraged the brotherhood. Cambaceres had more Masonic degrees
than probably any man before or since, and no man was so long and so
consistently trusted by Napoleon, with one short and significant
exception. Then there was the _gendarmerie d'elite_, then the ordinary
police, the myrmidons of Fouche of Nantes--in fact, if we take Lord
Rosebery literally, Napoleon had "half-a-dozen police agencies of his
own." There was also Talleyrand and, during the Concordats, the whole
priest-craft of Christendom as enlisting sergeants and spies
extraordinary for the Emperor. Finally, when he wishes to attack
Russia, he convokes a Sanhedrim at Paris, and wins the active
sympathies of Israel. "He was his own War Office, his own Foreign
Office, his own Admiralty."[8] His weak spot was his neglect of woman
as a political factor; this department he left to Josephine, who was a
failure. She gained popularity, but no converts. The Faubourg St.
Germain mistrusted a woman whose chief friend was the wife of
Thermidorian Tallien--Notre Dame de Septembre. In vain Napoleon raged
and stormed about the Tallien friendship, till his final mandate in
1806; and then it was too late.

Another characteristic, very marked in these Home Letters, is the
desire not to give his wife anxiety. His ailments and his difficulties
are always minimised.

Perhaps no man ever worked so hard physically and mentally as Napoleon
from 1796 to 1814. Lord Rosebery reminds us that "he would post from
Poland to Paris, summon a council at once, and preside over it with
his usual vigour and acuteness." And his councils were no joke; they
would last eight or ten hours. Once, at two o'clock in the morning,
the councillors were all worn-out; the Minister of Marine was fast
asleep. Napoleon still urged them to further deliberation: "Come,
gentlemen, pull yourselves together; it is only two o'clock, we must
earn the money that the nation gives us." The Commission who first
sifted the _Correspondence_ may well speak of the ceaseless working

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