you must judge me.  Did I not come to the rescue of law and order when France was torn with anarchies?  Did I not deliver the constituted authorities from the mob?  Did I not rescue France from foreign enemies when they sought to repress the Revolution and restore the Bourbons?  Was I not the avenger of twenty-five hungry millions on those old tyrants who would have destroyed their nationality?  Did I not break up those combinations which would have perpetuated the enslavement of Europe?  Did I not seek to plant liberty in Italy and destroy the despotisms of German princes?  Did I not give unity to great States and enlarge their civilization?  Did I not rebuke and punish Austria, Prussia, Russia, and England for interfering with our Revolution and combining against the rights of a republic?  Did I not elevate France, and give scope to its enterprise, and develop its resources, and inspire its citizens with an unknown enthusiasm, and make the country glorious, so that even my enemies came to my court to wonder and applaud?  And did I not leave such an immortal prestige, even when I was disarmed and overthrown by the armies of combined Christendom, that my illustrious name, indelibly engraved in the hearts of my countrymen, was enough to seat my nephew on the throne from which I was torn, and give to his reign a glory scarcely inferior to my own?  These were my services to France,—­the return of centralized power amid anarchies and discontents and laws which successive revolutions have not destroyed, but which shall blaze in wisdom through successive generations.”

Now, how far can these claims be substantiated?  Was Napoleon, although a usurper, like Cromwell and Caesar, also a benefactor like them; and did his fabric of imperialism prove a blessing to civilization?  What, in reality, were his services?  Do they offset his aspirations and crimes?  Is he worthy of the praises of mankind?  Great deeds he performed, but did they ultimately tend to the welfare of France and of Europe?

It was a great service which Napoleon rendered to France, in the beginning of his career, at the siege of Toulon, when he was a lieutenant of artillery.  He disobeyed, indeed, the orders of his superiors, but won success by the skill with which he planted his cannon, showing remarkable genius.  This service to the Republic was not forgotten, although he remained long unemployed, living obscurely at Paris with straitened resources.  By some means he caught the ear of Barras, the most able of the Directory, and was intrusted with the defence of the Convention in a great crisis, and saved it by his “whiff of grapeshot,” as Carlyle calls his dispersion of the mob in the streets of Paris, from the steps of St. Roch.  This, doubtless, was a service to the cause of law and order, since he acted under orders, and discharged his duty, like an obedient servant of the constituted authorities, without reluctance, and with great skill,—­perhaps the only man of France, at that time, who could have