The Story of Mankind [134]
candidates. But he overcame all these difficulties through
his absolute and unshakable belief in his own destiny, and in
his own glorious future. Ambition was the main-spring of his
life. The thought of self, the worship of that capital letter
``N'' with which he signed all his letters, and which recurred
forever in the ornaments of his hastily constructed palaces, the
absolute will to make the name Napoleon the most important
thing in the world next to the name of God, these desires carried
Napoleon to a pinnacle of fame which no other man has
ever reached.
When he was a half-pay lieutenant, young Bonaparte was
very fond of the ``Lives of Famous Men'' which Plutarch, the
Roman historian, had written. But he never tried to live up
to the high standard of character set by these heroes of the
older days. Napoleon seems to have been devoid of all those
considerate and thoughtful sentiments which make men
different from the animals. It will be very difficult to decide
with any degree of accuracy whether he ever loved anyone
besides himself. He kept a civil tongue to his mother, but
Letizia had the air and manners of a great lady and after the
fashion of Italian mothers, she knew how to rule her brood of
children and command their respect. For a few years he was
fond of Josephine, his pretty Creole wife, who was the daughter
of a French officer of Martinique and the widow of the
Vicomte de Beauharnais, who had been executed by Robespierre
when he lost a battle against the Prussians. But
the Emperor divorced her when she failed to give him a son
and heir and married the daughter of the Austrian Emperor,
because it seemed good policy.
During the siege of Toulon, where he gained great fame
as commander of a battery, Napoleon studied Macchiavelli
with industrious care. He followed the advice of the Florentine
statesman and never kept his word when it was to his
advantage to break it. The word ``gratitude'' did not occur in
his personal dictionary. Neither, to be quite fair, did he expect
it from others. He was totally indifferent to human suffering.
He executed prisoners of war (in Egypt in 1798) who had
been promised their lives, and he quietly allowed his wounded
in Syria to be chloroformed when he found it impossible to
transport them to his ships. He ordered the Duke of Enghien
to be condemned to death by a prejudiced court-martial and to
be shot contrary to all law on the sole ground that the
``Bourbons needed a warning.'' He decreed that those German
officers who were made prisoner while fighting for their
country's independence should be shot against the nearest wall,
and when Andreas Hofer, the Tyrolese hero, fell into his hands
after a most heroic resistance, he was executed like a common
traitor.
In short, when we study the character of the Emperor, we
begin to understand those anxious British mothers who used
to drive their children to bed with the threat that ``Bonaparte,
who ate little boys and girls for breakfast, would come and get
them if they were not very good.'' And yet, having said these
many unpleasant things about this strange tyrant, who looked
after every other department of his army with the utmost care,
but neglected the medical service, and who ruined his uniforms
with Eau de Cologne because he could not stand the smell of
his poor sweating soldiers; having said all these unpleasant
things and being fully prepared to add many more, I must
confess to a certain lurking feeling of doubt.
Here I am sitting at a comfortable table loaded heavily
with books, with one eye on my typewriter and the other on
Licorice the cat, who has a great fondness for carbon paper,
and I am telling you that the Emperor Napoleon was a most
contemptible person. But should I happen to look out of
the window, down upon Seventh Avenue, and should the endless
procession of trucks and carts come to a sudden halt, and
should
his absolute and unshakable belief in his own destiny, and in
his own glorious future. Ambition was the main-spring of his
life. The thought of self, the worship of that capital letter
``N'' with which he signed all his letters, and which recurred
forever in the ornaments of his hastily constructed palaces, the
absolute will to make the name Napoleon the most important
thing in the world next to the name of God, these desires carried
Napoleon to a pinnacle of fame which no other man has
ever reached.
When he was a half-pay lieutenant, young Bonaparte was
very fond of the ``Lives of Famous Men'' which Plutarch, the
Roman historian, had written. But he never tried to live up
to the high standard of character set by these heroes of the
older days. Napoleon seems to have been devoid of all those
considerate and thoughtful sentiments which make men
different from the animals. It will be very difficult to decide
with any degree of accuracy whether he ever loved anyone
besides himself. He kept a civil tongue to his mother, but
Letizia had the air and manners of a great lady and after the
fashion of Italian mothers, she knew how to rule her brood of
children and command their respect. For a few years he was
fond of Josephine, his pretty Creole wife, who was the daughter
of a French officer of Martinique and the widow of the
Vicomte de Beauharnais, who had been executed by Robespierre
when he lost a battle against the Prussians. But
the Emperor divorced her when she failed to give him a son
and heir and married the daughter of the Austrian Emperor,
because it seemed good policy.
During the siege of Toulon, where he gained great fame
as commander of a battery, Napoleon studied Macchiavelli
with industrious care. He followed the advice of the Florentine
statesman and never kept his word when it was to his
advantage to break it. The word ``gratitude'' did not occur in
his personal dictionary. Neither, to be quite fair, did he expect
it from others. He was totally indifferent to human suffering.
He executed prisoners of war (in Egypt in 1798) who had
been promised their lives, and he quietly allowed his wounded
in Syria to be chloroformed when he found it impossible to
transport them to his ships. He ordered the Duke of Enghien
to be condemned to death by a prejudiced court-martial and to
be shot contrary to all law on the sole ground that the
``Bourbons needed a warning.'' He decreed that those German
officers who were made prisoner while fighting for their
country's independence should be shot against the nearest wall,
and when Andreas Hofer, the Tyrolese hero, fell into his hands
after a most heroic resistance, he was executed like a common
traitor.
In short, when we study the character of the Emperor, we
begin to understand those anxious British mothers who used
to drive their children to bed with the threat that ``Bonaparte,
who ate little boys and girls for breakfast, would come and get
them if they were not very good.'' And yet, having said these
many unpleasant things about this strange tyrant, who looked
after every other department of his army with the utmost care,
but neglected the medical service, and who ruined his uniforms
with Eau de Cologne because he could not stand the smell of
his poor sweating soldiers; having said all these unpleasant
things and being fully prepared to add many more, I must
confess to a certain lurking feeling of doubt.
Here I am sitting at a comfortable table loaded heavily
with books, with one eye on my typewriter and the other on
Licorice the cat, who has a great fondness for carbon paper,
and I am telling you that the Emperor Napoleon was a most
contemptible person. But should I happen to look out of
the window, down upon Seventh Avenue, and should the endless
procession of trucks and carts come to a sudden halt, and
should