drawing-room. He would have made great sacrifices to have added three
inches to his height. He walked on tiptoe. His costumes were studied to
form a contrast with the circle which surrounded him, by extreme
simplicity or extreme elegance. Talma taught him attitudes.

"Having but one passion,--that of power,--he never lost either his time
or his means in those objects which deviated from his aims. Master of
himself, he soon became master of events. In whatever period he had
appeared, he would have played a prominent part. His prodigious
successes blinded him; but up to 1812 he never lost sight of the
profound calculations by which he so often conquered. He never recoiled
from fear of the wounds he might cause. As a war-chariot crushes
everything it meets on its way, he thought of nothing but to advance. He
could sympathize with family troubles; he was indifferent to political
calamities.

"Disinterested generosity he had none; he only dispensed his favors in
proportion to the value he put on the utility of those who received
them. He was never influenced by affection or hatred in his public acts.
He crushed his enemies without thinking of anything but the necessity of
getting rid of them.

"In his political combinations he did not fail to reckon largely on the
weakness or errors of his adversaries. The alliance of 1813 crushed him
because he was not able to persuade himself that the members of the
coalition could remain united, and persevere in a given course of
action. The vast edifice he constructed was exclusively the work of his
own hands, and he was the keystone of the arch; but the gigantic
construction was essentially wanting in its foundations, the materials
of which were nothing but the ruins of other buildings."

Such is the verdict of one of the acutest and most dispassionate men
that ever lived. Napoleon is not painted as a monster, but as a
supremely selfish man bent entirely on his own exaltation, making the
welfare of France subservient to his own glory, and the interests of
humanity itself secondary to his pride and fame. History can add but
little to this graphic sketch, although indignant and passionate enemies
may dilate on the Corsican's hard-heartedness, his duplicity, his
treachery, his falsehood, his arrogance, and his diabolic egotism. On
the other hand, weak and sentimental idolaters will dwell on his
generosity, his courage, his superhuman intellect, and the love and
devotion with which he